


House Arrest

by Evenbechbaesheim



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Cat, Coming Out, Even has a cat!, Gay Male Character, M/M, Marijuana, Pansexual Character, People Watching, Pining, Smoking, Summer, Underage Smoking, Watching, but everything was resolved a LOT better than it was in the show lmao, called Baz!, house arrest, just a lot less murder, loosely based off that really weird Shia LeBouf movie, mentions of Even's breakdown at bakka, minor criminal activity, police are assholes, some sexual content, summer-after-first-year Isak, who is an asshole!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenbechbaesheim/pseuds/Evenbechbaesheim
Summary: After a manic episode, Even is charged with assaulting one of his teachers. It wasn't his fault- his friends and family and lawyer know that, but the consequences of his actions leave him with a pretty unfashionable ankle bracelet that he has to wear over the entire summer, confined to a fifteen-or-so feet square radius around his house.Isak is the pretty new boy who moves in next door. Even just needs to figure out a way of getting his attention without getting arrested. (Again)





	1. chapter one

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

“God Even, I don’t know what to say.” It’s a surprising amount of sympathy that makes itself present in his dad’s eyes as a gentle, firm hand cards through Even’s hair, ruffling it fondly. It’s a familiar gesture- the hair ruffle, passed down from his grandfather to his father and his father to him and so on. Even can’t remember the last time his dad ruffled his hair without having reason to be proud of him. This is a different kind of sentimental gesture, thinly shielded sadness and worry in his parent’s eyes as they linger stiffly in the doorway.

It should just be a normal Monday morning. His parents get up and they go to work. It’s summer, so Even doesn’t bother about school. Usually, he’d still be asleep at this time- then maybe in a few hours rise to see a cute note his mother left or a text from Mikael, asking to come hang over at his house with his giant pool because for once, in Norway, the sun has decided to fucking show its face and shine down onto them.

But this isn’t just a normal Monday morning, and the only thing making things quite so difficult is the thick plastic tag strapped around Even’s right ankle.

“We’ll be home after six. I’ve left some lunch for you in the fridge and there’s cash on the side in case you want to have Mikael or the boys over, maybe order a pizza?” his mother says, smiling just a little too wide and her tone just a little too upbeat. Even resists the urge to scoff at the molly-coddling. He knows his parents mean well, but the fact that they’re being _quite_ so understanding and _caring_ and _gentle_ about the whole fucked-up situation just makes him feel like even more of a total head-case than usual.

“I’ll be fine.” He tells them, even though he isn’t entirely sure of that himself. “Seriously,” he forces a smile anyway. “Go, have a good day at work. I’ll find something to pass the time.”

So, here’s the thing:

Even isn’t _like_ other eighteen-year-old kids, enjoying their Russ summer now that high school is finally over, looking forward to college or travelling or interning and all those other crazy, wild ideas that people have when they’re young and looking to make something of life. The giant security tag around his foot does nothing but shatter that happy-go-lucky ideal. What’s even worse is the story behind it.

Being bipolar _sucks_ , in Even’s opinion. He’s always trying to remember to take his meds, or feeling down and choosing not to take them at all. His parents claim they understand- third year is hard for everyone, Even cracked under the pressure like hundreds of other kids do- if not thousands, all over the world. His ‘little breakdown’ was _totally normal_ , given his ‘condition’, according to the doctor. He forgot to take his meds for a few days, weeks (perhaps longer) and of course, what followed was an intense (more intense than usual. More intense than _Mikael_ ) hypomanic episode.

Usually, it’s easily containable. Even will be excitable- talking in long, run-on sentences, brain bursting with thousands of genius ideas, skin tingling to reach out and touch everything in sight, feel the snow on the mountains and the burning sunshine in the playground, everything, nothing all at once. His parents have been dealing with it for almost an entire year- so they know the signs and how to deal with him and steer him out of trouble, _usually_.

But this time was different. Even doesn’t know why, his parents don’t know why, the doctor didn’t know why. But this time- clearly the signs weren’t obvious enough, and when he hit his peak, it was in school, in the middle of class, toe to toe with that _asshole_ Mr Prulle, and things ended with Even’s fist, shoved into his stupid, crooked nose hard enough to draw blood.

Of course, because Mr Prulle (an uptight religious studies teacher with absolutely _no_ interest in Even’s dreamy, artistic thought process nor mental illness) was _that much_ of an asshole, he took it upon himself to contact the police and press charges. The expensive lawyer his parents hired instantly got him off with the lightest charge he could (two months of house arrest, right as summer started and an electric tag to keep him within his confines) but now, Even would forever have a stain on his otherwise clean criminal record. Fancy film schools didn’t usually care for students with criminal records- _not_ that he even had a chance to finish third year before he was hauled out of _Elvebakken_ by the scruff of his shirt and told never to return.

So yeah, things aren’t going to great for Even.

The first week is unsurprisingly uneventful. Even tidies his room, and then he tidies the bathroom, and then he tidies the kitchen, the office, the living room. Then he goes back to his room and cleans it again. Then he’s got yellow rubber gloves on and is bleaching every inch of the bathroom, scrubbing out every water stain whilst blasting Kendrick Lamar loud enough on his dad’s sound system that the whole house vibrates. And that only takes him to Tuesday.

Wednesday he lays around and plays video games, talks on the phone to Elias for a bit, but then he has to go, because the boys are filming around town for their youtube channel. The same channel it had been _Even’s_ idea to create, only a few short weeks ago. But now, unfortunately, there isn’t a way he can be part of _Hei, Brieskeby_ unless every single instalment is titled: Even’s House Arrest, Day X, minute Y, second Z.

On Thursday he starts making his own video diary. He inventories the entire house, coming up with hours worth of footage that fills the cameras tiny memory card to bursting point. He arranges the cereal cabinet in alphabetical order, takes all the food out of the fridge, scrubs it, lays it all back in in neat little slots and containers. Nothing touches. Everything is clean. Even doesn’t feel any more satisfied.

If anything, he feels kind of lonely.

On Friday, he digs around in his wardrobe for the jar of weed he keeps hidden successfully from his parents. He’d sort of promised Sonja he’d stop smoking for good after his episode, but forced isolation gives the mind far too much time to double back on itself, something which he’s sure isn’t healthy for the healthiest of people. Plus, he decides, Sonja isn’t here to control him anymore. They  broke up for a reason- and whilst he appreciated her being there for him when he was expelled from school and taken to court, he sure as hell _didn’t_ appreciate her taking the opportunity to smear lip-gloss all across his face in a shoddy attempt at luring him back into her suffocating web, otherwise known as their relationship.

It’s good weed. Even opens all the windows in the house as the paranoia sets in, and hopes to God his parents don’t notice the smell once they come home. By the time they’re back from work he’s long forgotten his fear, instead sprawled out on the living room sofa with an empty bag of Cheetos, giggling at _Monty Python_ with happy tears staining his cheeks. If they suspect anything, they don’t say. Even isn’t sure if that’s the worst or best-case scenario.

By Saturday he’s run out of weed, and no dealer is going to deliver it here, his stupidly quaint suburban neighbourhood. He can’t even send Mikael to pick it up for him, because he and the boys are going to the waterpark for Adam’s birthday, taking advantage of the sudden heatwave. Even remembers the conversation when they arranged it as a surprise, and stares forlornly at the waterproof _GoPro_ sitting on his desk, still in the packaging. He’d bought it as his own little surprise for the boys, so they could film the day and make a video for their channel. Bitterly, he neglected to tell them about it after his arrest, which he knows is petty and pathetic; it isn’t the boys fault he got himself into such a mess- but that thought is hardly comforting. He’s sure they’ll have a great time at the waterpark. He’ll just sit here, and stare at the GoPro until his eyes start to water instead.

The policewoman who attached the tag around his ankle had warned him about going stir crazy, and Even begins to wonder if she wasn’t just scaremongering him. He’s already feeling it- the suffocation of his own home, the distant scent of bleach lingering on every surface, under his fingernails, in his skin. He needs fresh air, but outside isn’t much of an option. He’s sure the limit on his tag is 100yds from his house. That barely covers the driveway.

Instead, Even routes around his bedroom looking for something to play with, like a dissatisfied child. It takes him half an hour, but eventually he comes up with some binoculars stuffed underneath a stack of old photography magazines. He’d had them gifted by an auntie obsessed with birdwatching a few years ago, and hadn’t done much with them since. Now, Even supposed, shrugging and lifting the binoculars to his eyes to stare out of his bedroom window, things were different.

It’s an interesting perspective he gains on his own neighbourhood over the next few days. Even is aware he looks like an insane stalker, sat in front of his window for hours on end with binoculars pressed up against his eyes and a tiny notebook by his side, scribbling down his observations. Still- for an activity so monotonous, it’s absolutely fucking _thrilling_. He feels like he’s been pulled right out of a movie- _Rear Window_ maybe- only in this neighbourhood there isn’t a dreamy-looking Grace Kelly at his side nor a gruesome, gripping murder to pass the time.

His parents aren’t the kind of people who ‘mingle’ with the neighbours, hosting dinner parties and attending barbeques and so-on. They’re far too busy being liberal and successful and so _not_ stuffy middle-aged-people, which Even supposes is where he got his artsy, hippy mindset from. He doesn’t care- there’s nobody else his age or quite as interesting in their neighbourhood anyway, but it’s a little annoying that in his observational notebook he has to refer to people by their door number, rather than their actual names.

Mr and Mrs 43 are almost definitely getting a divorce. Even has witnessed several scathing arguments, objects tossed carelessly at the walls, tearful phone conversations when the other isn’t around. That’s interesting enough, but he feels a little guilty when he watches Mr 43 jr, their eight-year-old son, playing out on the front lawn with their dog, a fat, excited smile on his face. For Mr 43 Jr, the summer is just beginning, and he has everything possible in a child’s mind to look forwards too. Even feels strange, like some kind of _God_ , above it all, watching the future unfold whilst the mere mortals wait around, unaware of what is yet to come as he is unable to intervene.

Mrs 41 is having an affair with Mrs 42, and neither of their husbands have worked it out yet. Even likes Mrs 41 and Mrs 42’s story possibly the best. They haven’t noticed him at his window, far too busy gazing at each other from their own. Even sometimes has to switch out from his bedroom window to the window in his parent’s room to catch that story in action, and it makes him kind of warm inside when he spots them through Mrs 42’s window, right next to his own house, sitting with their arms wrapped around each other, laughing happily and exchanging dreamy kisses.

For a second, he misses Sonja. It’s a little dumb: there was plenty wrong with their relationship- things the boys and his parents and just about everyone else who knew them pointed out time and time again- but whilst they were _in_ it, it was good. It was _nice_ , and _warm_ and most of all, _safe_ \- being able to just _have_ someone there to hold and hug and kiss and laugh with. Even wouldn’t be so opposed to trying it again, but this time, he’s looking for the right person instead of the first available.

The house next to Even’s, number 38, has been empty for six months.

He didn’t know much about the man that lived there, only that he was a bit of a shut in and had a young son who was probably in his twenties, was stupidly good looking, and contributed greatly to Even’s realisation that maybe girls weren’t the only side of the spectrum he was interested in as he hit puberty. He came around the father’s home pretty often, and then once the family came into some money (gossip he ascertained through earwigging on his mother’s phone-calls) the young attractive son dropped a bomb on doing the house up into some kind of Californian paradise and stuck a for sale sign up in the front garden. The son and the man hadn’t been seen since, and the house remained empty.

Until, that is, the thirteenth day of Even’s house arrest.

He watches the moving van make its way up their quaint, cosy street. He watches a man hop out, stern faced, obviously stressed, blonde hair thinning on the top of his head. He hauls a few boxes out with the help of some uninterested young men, obviously hired from a moving company. That says enough to Even. Clearly this guy doesn’t have much family or friends to help him move, so he hires people instead. What that says about his personality, Even is fairly interested to find out.

He keeps watching for another few minutes or so, until someone else hops out the front of the van and his heart stops.

The boy is young- younger than Even for sure- but definitely old enough to be in high school. He’s on the right side of a sudden growth spurt, glowing golden curls almost brushing six feet and skinny jeans coming up just a little short on his ankles. Over that, he wears a giant grey hoodie with _WU-TANG CLAN_ plastered across the front. The garment drowns him, but somehow, this boy makes it look like a fifty-thousand dollar piece of _Haute Coture_ art. Plus- if the incessant bobbing of his head along to the music blasting in his white earphones is anything to go buy- he isn’t wearing the wu-tang sweater purely for the _aesthetic_. He keeps mumbling lyrics to himself under his breath and making small, jerky gestures with his hand. It has to be rap. Even will eat his fucking left shoe if it isn’t.

He angles his binoculars to get a better look of the boy’s face as he makes his way into the house, but only catches a glimpse of soft-looking, rosy cheeks and a nose chiselled straight out of an Italian Renaissance painting before the boy disappears inside the giant house, leaving what Even assumes is his father (judging by their shared stature and dark circles) outside to Shepheard the moving hands. He doesn’t spot a mother. He doesn’t spot anyone else, actually, aside from a sunny looking golden retriever that pads out of the back of the van with a heavy pink tongue lolling from its mouth, before sniffing the air and heading off in the same direction that the boy went.

Even, by this point, is almost itching in his seat. He doesn’t know what it is- but he fucking _needs_ to see this boy again. He’s never felt so fucking drawn to another person in his life. Not even the first time he saw Sonja, in the last year of middle school when she was introduced to the class as their new student and his heart stopped beating for almost a full second. Not even that fateful afternoon before he knew he was bipolar when electricity ran through his veins and Mikael started to look like the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. Those encounters pale in comparison to this- an almost primal desire settling over him just to lay eyes on this boy again.

And then, as if God _is_ real and looks down upon him, Even spots him in the doorway.

He’s shouting- Even can’t hear through the thick double glazing that keeps him further encased in his own home, but the boy is shouting something down to his father, who is shouting back, looking entirely fed up with the whole conversation. Even can’t even imagine how perfect his voice much be if his face is anything to go by, and accompanied with the bitchy eye-roll that shouldn’t be as fucking attractive as it is, there’s only one thing Even knows for sure.

He needs a closer look.

There’s only a few seconds of rational thought and hesitation telling him that _just maybe_ , this is a bad idea, but Even can’t be bothered to listen. God- if he really _is_ out there- has presented him with a fucking angel, walking among the other mere mortals they surround themselves with. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s almost two weeks into his exile and is starting to go a little stir crazy or maybe it really is just _destiny_ , but Even feels like there’s a tether connecting him to the new boy-next-door, and with every step closer he gets to his own front door, the ache dulls just slightly.

He’s just about made it to the doorstep, ankle-bracelet still flashing a safe and familiar green as he looks across to the house next door and watches the boy exchange a few black, silent looks with his father before picking up a box, when he feels something soft rush past his leg.

“Shit.” Even says aloud. “ _Baz_ , wait!”

Baz is the most irritating, pretentious, over-expensive Persian cat Even’s been bonded with since he was seven years old and the kitten was thrust into his hands by an over-zealous aunty with far more money than sense. Nobody with rational thought presents a child with a 50,000 kr cat as a Christmas present, but Aunt Cecilia was always known for being a little bit bored and a little bit backwards thanks to her husband’s multi-million-dollar insurance fraud empire.

In recent years, Even and Baz (named so only as a cute nickname for Basil, which was the cats original moniker. It just so happened that, as he reached adolescence, Even’s dad introduced him to Baz Lurhmann and, well, the name just sort of stuck that way) haven’t had the closest relationship. Even remembers a time when he was young and lonely and a little different from the other kids when Baz was his best fucking friend in the world, only now he’s a little old and a little slow and fond of coughing up hairballs in Even’s carpet. Also he’s got catarax and a slightly bum left hind-leg, so he isn’t supposed to go outside.

That, as it seems, doesn’t stop Baz. The moment he smells the freedom of the open air, he bolts, and Even glares up at the sky- because whichever so-called-God it was he’d been previously thanking had now decided that ultimately, punishment was due.

Even doesn’t think before sprinting after Baz, right down the driveway to the edge of the street where the daft old cat has become distracted by some kids stupid spilled strawberry ice cream in the middle of the road. Even just huffs, reaching forwards to scoop the idiotic ball of expensive fur into his arms with the intent to carry him inside, so he could go back to stalking the new attractive neighbour in peace.

And then he hears the sirens.

In such a quaint, homely, sickening suburban neighbourhood, police don’t come around very often. Even watches one by one as all their neighbours- Mr and Mrs 43, Mrs 42, Mr 41, and worst of all, the new man and his beautiful son, pull back their curtains and turn their heads so all their eyes converge on one spot: Even, and the tag around his ankle that is beeping in a shrill, piercing tone as the lights flash red.

Even looks down at the tag. Then, he looks over to the house next door, where the most beautiful boy in the world is stood on his porch, staring.

“ _Shit_!”

He runs back to his driveway, as if _that’s_ going to stop the police car barrelling down the street. Baz is no help, leaping from his arms and running straight back inside, clearly dissatisfied with his brief brush at freedom from the confines of home. Even curses the stupid fucking cat and stupid fucking Aunt Cecilia for buying him in the first place. Two burly policemen with a shared mean glint in their dark, flat eyes make their way onto the drive, and Even’s barely gotten out the first few words to explain himself when they’re shoving his nose into the ground and wrapping a pair of handcuffs behind his back.

Even gets one more glimpse at the beautiful boy before he’s hauled back into his house. His expression is completely unreadable, but Even’s guessing he isn’t thinking: _wow, that guy’s cool. I want to kiss him until he doesn’t remember his own name_. It’s actually probably more along the lines of: _wow, that guy is a psycho and a criminal? I hate this neighbourhood._

Even stares at Baz the whole time as his parents talk to the police officers.

 _Fuck that cat_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the violation-of-his-house-arrest/ _fuck-you-Baz_ incident, Even confines himself to observing from afar.

The neighbourhood is still mostly the same. Mr and Mrs 43 still argue, only now, sometimes their kid overhears. Sometimes he runs upstairs and turns the TV up to full volume or holds his hands tightly over his ears. Even can’t watch that for very long. It’s just a little bit too sad, even for him.

Mrs 41 and Mrs 42 are still going at it behind their partners backs, but there’s a little tension between them out in public. Even watches with a vague interest as they bump into each other in the middle of the street, Mrs 42’s husband talking excitedly and rubbing her back with soft intimate touches as Mrs 41 just watches, eyes pained, as if she’s talking to a complete stranger rather than her lover.

So instead of all those depressing, _real-life_ narratives- Even watches the boy next door.

He still hasn’t figured out his name, or even heard his voice, but he’s had plenty of time to fall in love with his pretty face and angelic curls and lithe, slim body. There’s several things he’s noticed over the last five days about the boy- other than how fucking attractive he looks when he’s sweating in the garden, curls bouncing as he counts how many kick-ups he can do with a football under his breath.

The first thing he notices is that that boy is almost always alone. He plays football on his own in the garden, lounges around in his room, nodding and rapping along to what Even _thinks_ might be N.W.A, but he can’t be sure. He lounges around on his bed, watches Narcos, plays Xbox amongst other menial things- but he’s almost always on his own. His father is a rare sight to Even despite the fact that his car is always on the driveway. Clearly the two don’t spent much time together despite being the only two in the house.

The boy _does_ have friends. Even’s seen a group of boys hanging around outside: one dark-skinned with an impressive smile and another, strikingly blonde with silky hair that flops in front of his eyes. There’s a third one who he sees more than the others, vaguely Hispanic looking with dark curly hair and thick eyebrows, always half-masked by a yellow beanie. The boys, in the two times Even has seen them, only ever wait outside in the street for the friend. They never go into the house.

That is, except for eyebrow boy. Even’s seen him quite a few times, always with a skateboard tucked under his arm and that bright, yellow beanie _still_ covering his head despite the summer sunshine. He, unlike the others, goes into the house. He sits up in the boy-next-door’s room and they listen to music and smoke together when the boys father isn’t around. Even tries to tell himself that he isn’t jealous. _Tries._

Ignoring eyebrow boy- who the boy-next-door looks at a little too fondly for his liking- Even focuses on the room around them. The boy has posters on his walls- silly, outdated memes and a few torn-out magazine posters with girls in bikinis, legs splayed, airbrushed pouts glowing in the beach sunshine. Along with those posters, Even doesn’t spot any of hot muscular men drowned in oil, so he’s pretty certain that the boy is _not_ going to reciprocate his silly, stalker crush. That alone should be enough for Even to stop obsessing over him- it would be so easy to sell himself back into the Mrs 41 and Mrs 42 love-story or the Mr and Mrs 43 saga (he’s sure that _wasn’t_ Mrs 43 that Mr 43 was kissing in the kitchen the other day) but _fuck_. The boy next door, straight as he is, is _hot_.

The boy’s bed stands with the headboard to the window, TV shining in Even’s direct view. That’s how he knows that the boy-next-door is more or less undefeatable at fifa, and it’s also how he’s got a fairly comprehensible knowledge of the plot of _Narcos_ , despite the fact that he’s never chosen to watch a single episode. It must be the boy’s favourite show. It’s all he seems to use his Netflix for- an observation that hurts Even’s pathetic, film-lover soul. He needs a fucking cinematic education, but with his current constraints, Even knows that the probability of him delivering the lesson personally is at an all-time low.

Even’s settled at his desk, binoculars held against his eyes, ready to dig into episode eight of Narcos once the boy-next-door is finished his game of fifa (okay, fuck it, he’s sort of hooked now) when something different happens, for the first time.

The boy turns off his TV, rolling around on his bed for a few minutes, shifting around to get comfortable. Even’s stomach turns a little- because he’s moved from being a creepy stalker watching Narcos to being a creepy stalker, watching the boy of his dreams… sleep? He isn’t really sure what’s going on. He can’t see much, because without the TV the room is dark, but a few minutes later a laptop opening casts some light into the room. Even isn’t sure why the boy-next-door would bother watching Narcos on his laptop when his giant TV is right in front, but he’s still got a pretty good view of the laptop screen, and the binoculars are good enough to the point where he can make-out the words typed into the search bar, lean pale fingers flying over the keyboard.

He's not really paying attention, too busy staring at the boy’s pretty hands and blunt, bitten fingernails to notice him type a web address that definitely _isn’t_ netflix.com/browse, but when he does drag his eyes back to the computer screen, he nearly drops the binoculars in his lap.

They’re too expensive to _drop_ , so instead, in his panic Even just slams the binoculars down on his desk, a hot blush on his cheeks as he whirls around in his desk chair and looks away from the window. Of course, he recognised the website the boy-next-door was browsing. He’s (to some extent) a normal teenager with a normal, overactive teenage-male libido. He jerks off all the time, more so recently for obvious reasons, and it is perfectly normal that boy-next-door does it too. The only thing taking him by surprise is his pornographic selection of choice.

Because it isn’t straight. In fact- there aren’t any girls involved at all.

Even feels a little uncomfortable- knowing that he almost accidentally snooped on his new neighbour jerking off to gay porn, but there’s also the faintest glimmer of hope that sprouts in his gut. Because if boy-next-door isn’t quite as straight at the posters on his wall would lead people to believe, that means that Even has the tiniest, miniscule chance. Sure, boy-next-door _did_ maybe see him with his nose in the gravel as two officers dragged him into his house so his fancy ankle accessory would stop screaming- but one of the very few advantages Even _does_ have in this situation is the fact that there isn’t another single teenager on their whole street. He can’t leave the house, and as far as he’s observed, the boy-next-door doesn’t leave often either. Maybe- and it’s a weak, fragile maybe- if he manages to engage the boy-next-door in some kind of conversation, just once, he might just be in with a chance.

Figuring out how to do that is just going to have to be his next challenge.

 

 


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even gets a visit from his best friend, Mikael, who encourages him to actually attempt to hold a conversation with the boy next door that doesn't involve getting arrested.

 

 

 

It’s just about three weeks into his house arrest when Mikael, being his so-called ‘best friend’, finally comes to visit.

Even can’t blame him really. It is summer, and between outings with the boys that had been planned months in advance and youtube videos, Mikael has pretty strict parents who aren’t so much a fan of him just being _out_ all hours of the day and night without a real purpose. When Mikael says ‘I’m going over to Even’s to play video games’, what they really hear is ‘I’m going to waste my day over at my criminal best-friend’s house’. Even can’t blame them really- as it isn’t entirely untrue.

Mikael takes it mostly in his stride, bounding into Even’s room and tackling him on the bed with a tight hug. Even laughs, because it’s just so fucking euphoric, skin to skin contact with another human being that _isn’t_ his mum or dad. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it until he’d had a taste of it again, hands wrapped tightly around Mikael’s back, smothering him with laughter and friendly, familiar love. Mikael doesn’t really mind- he’s an incredibly affectionate person, never not tucked under the arm of one of the boys or without a hand carding through his silky hair. He’s sort of like the group _baby_ that they all collectively love and look out for. It’s just a bonus that Mikael is also an attention whore, and loves the fact that they all constantly dote on him.

It’s easy to mistake constant affection and a desire to be adored with other feelings, but Even doesn’t really want to think about that anymore.

“Dude, it _sucks_ not having you around.” Mikael whinges, taking a tiny pull of the first neatly rolled joint Even had made for him. Another perk of Mikael’s long-awaited visit was that Even could negotiate a drug deal, using him as a middle man. Now, his washed-out sauce jar wrapped with thick yellow duct tape (because _that_ made it look less suspicious when he was high) is full of something potent and vaguely lemony. Even knows he isn’t really supposed to be smoking, or drinking or doing _anything_ fun due to the nature of his disorder, but the hours of research he’d taken out on the link between bipolar and marijuana left him with more questions than answers. The only thing he knows for sure is that correlation certainly doesn’t always equal causation, so he takes the joint from between Mikael’s dainty, tanned fingers and takes a long, slow drag. He’s better at smoking than Mikael, who is already giggling between coughs. Even smokes the way he’s seen characters do it in films, because that’s the only way he knows how.

“I miss you guys a lot.” He huffs, smoke trickling out from between his lips as he speaks. “It’s fucking weird, cooped up in here.”

“Tag looks pretty bad-ass though.” Mikael leans down, prodding Even’s ankle as it dangles off the bed. “Shit, it’s got _lights_? That’s cool man.”

Even laughs- “It is _not_ cool, bro. I told you about the other day, getting fucking arrested! This thing tracks my every move!”

“Shit yeah, that part kinda sucks.” Mikael sits back up, slumped against the headboard. Even is perched on the other end of the bed, so that they’re close, but there’s a comfortable, _friendly_ distance between them. He can think back to times b-b (this is how he refers to life _before bipolar_ ) when he and Mikael would be sprawled out, limbs overlapping each other, half cuddling, half not. He’s been a little reluctant to just jump back into all that after _the incident_. Mikael doesn’t seem to mind however, and that relaxes him, when his foot is lifted into his best friend’s lap and pretty fingers dance around his covered ankle. “Still, only like a month left. Then you’ve got like… two more weeks of summer to catch up on everything you’ve missed.”

Even nods along “And then Nissen in the fall.”

“Nissen?” Mikael raises an eyebrow. “You got in?”

“ _Yup_.” Even nods and nods and nods, popping the ‘p’ in _yup_. “I got my acceptance letter the other day. They’re going to let me retake my third year in September. As long as I don’t punch any more teachers.” He says the last part carelessly, a throwaway joke until he remembers he’s sitting opposite someone who was in the same room that fateful day he lost his temper with disastrous consequences, and freezes. Thankfully, Mikael just laughs, and when Even looks up at his face, it’s happy and genuine and unbothered. This is the main reason Even thinks he and Mikael have managed to remain best friends. He doesn’t tread on eggshells, or treat him like a special case just because he found out that his brain doesn’t quite work the same as everyone else’s. Mikael treats him the same way he’s always treated him: he’s overly affectionate, whiny and loves laughing at Even’s shortcomings just as much as Even loathes having them.

“For real though,” Mikael says, taking the joint back, letting it droop between his pert lips. “Retaking third year is going to _suck_ dicks- not in the good way.”

“After this I’ll probably be relieved to have somewhere to go every day.” Even sighs, before standing up off his bed and heading over to the desk, toying with his binoculars. He’s been an avid watcher of the neighbourhood as ever, but for the last few days he’s been trying to avoid stalking the boy-next-door quite so intensely. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been caught yet, and after the recent discovery of his sexuality being perhaps a little more fluid than first thought, Even isn’t ready to come across as a total creep just yet. “I’ve been sitting here watching the neighbourhood for three weeks. It’s a little bit mind numbing.”

“Oh shit, let me see!” Mikael is surprisingly excited, thrusting the binoculars to his eyes, leaving the joint half smoked and abandoned in the small, makeshift ashtray Even crafted out of an empty water-bottle. “Is there like, hot MILF’s getting undressed at their windows?”

“I wish.” Even scoffs. “There’s drama though. If you look over at that house,” he steers Mikael’s head gently in the direction of house number 43. “That couple are arguing non-stop. They’re definitely getting a divorce. I think the husband may also be cheating with the maid.”

“That’s some _desperate housewives shit_.”

“For real. Also the wife in the house next door is having an affair with that woman from across the street.” He points down into the road, where Mrs 41 is walking, her snooty looking poodle trotting ahead on a diamante lead. “It’s pretty epic. Total forbidden romance kinda shit. Which is cool, considering I’ve re-watched every movie ever fucking made in the last three weeks and I’m kind of running out of material.”

“This is so cool.” Mikael marvels, a little high, but mostly just genuinely excited and interested in what Even has to say, which is nice. This is another reason why he and Mikael have probably been friends for so long. There’s just something there that they _get_ about each other. Even hasn’t felt anything quite like it before. “Is this the tragic lesbian house?” his gaze swivels to the boy-next-door’s bedroom, and Even feels himself blush as if Mikael has stumbled in on his dirty little secret. Thankfully, the boy isn’t actually in, despite the fact that his curtains are wide open (as usual) and the light is streaming through, showing off the room. “Kind of a weird bedroom for a married woman. Those memes are pretty tragic though.”

Even laughs nervously. “No, uh- that’s a new family. They just moved in a couple weeks ago.”

“Anyone home?” Mikael drums his fingers across the table, before dragging his gaze down from the boy-next-door’s bedroom to his garden. Even stiffens- obviously, he’d spotted the boy several minutes before, playing with the same beaten football in a pair of nylon shorts and nothing else, kicking the ball between his feet and counting. He was just really hoping Mikael wouldn’t.

“ _Oh_ ,” Mikael marvels, and a smirk crosses his face. “So _this_ is the reason you’ve invested in military grade binoculars huh? The cute boy next door?” he pulls away and turns to look at Even, who _knows_ he’s wearing the truth all across his face like a fucking Halloween mask. Mikael’s grin widens, and Even feels his cheeks go hot. “Oh my God, you _do_ like him? Even- get in there! I told you it’s time to rebound from Sonja- this is perfect! You don’t even have to _go_ anywhere that violates your house arrest. He’s _right_ there!”

“Okay, okay, relax.” Even pouts, snatching the binoculars back and stuffing them away in his drawer so he can’t be tempted to ogle the boy any longer. “I might have a very small thing for him-”

“-I _knew_ it-”

“- _but_ ,” he interrupts, glaring at Mikael slightly. “It isn’t going to go anywhere. He already thinks I’m a total nut-job.”

“Why would he think that?” Mikael asks blankly. Even huffs, sitting back down on the bed. He reaches out for the makeshift ashtray and pulls the joint back between his lips. Mikael tosses him the lighter before sitting down beside him, their knees knocking together.

“He saw me,” Even mumbles around the joint as he lights it. “I saw him on moving day and went out to get a better look but that fucking deranged cat ran outside past me. So I ran after Baz and that’s when I violated my house arrest. Pretty boy saw me get my face shoved into the dirt and handcuffed before I was dragged back inside.”

“Woah dude.” Mikael sighs. “ _Fuck_ the police.”

“Fuck the police.” Even repeats. “But yeah- he thinks I’m a total psycho so, I doubt he’s going to be serenading me through the window anytime soon.”

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong, Ev,” Mikael grins, and fuck if it isn’t infectious. He’s ridiculously cute. How was Even ever supposed to _not_ end up with a crush on him, somewhere throughout their friendship? The only person he’s seen look cuter than Mikael right now with his bouncing hair and pretty lashes and goofy smile is the illusive boy-next-door, and that says enough about just how fucking _gone_ Even is for him. He doesn’t even know the kids name, but here he is, sat beside the human embodiment of a fucking puppy and for the first time in the longest time he feels… well… _nothing_. “I think this is just the first act of your epic love story. It’s like a film- right?”

Even shakes his head, smiling. “You’ve smoked too much.”

“I’m serious.” Mikael laughs, flopping back on the bed and nodding for Even to join him. “You’re doubting yourself now, but soon a chance encounter will put the two of you together. Then you’ll be best friends and then…”

“Then…” Even turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows in mocking. Mikael’s voice is soft.

“Then you fall in love.”

It’s a strangely still moment- Even looking at Mikael, Mikael looking at Even. The joint feels heavy between his fingers, hanging down by the edge of the bed. Even doesn’t dare move and he doesn’t dare blink either. This is about as intimate as it’s been between himself and Mikael since the time they sort-of-almost-kissed. He isn’t sure if he likes it so much, these days.

Mikael sits up, rolling his eyes. “-that’s only if you stop stalking him through the window and try actually talking to him.” He jokes, and the moment is over. Even laughs, just a second too late, but if Mikael notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Mikael’s a good friend like that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The plan is fairly simple.

It had worked disastrously the first time, but this time around Even’s taken a few things into account. Firstly- Baz’ laziness and lack of willingness to explore. Even if Even ‘accidentally’ lets him out, at least he knows he won’t go very far, and that’s a relief, because despite how old and irritating the cat is, he’s sure his parents would have a _lot_ to say if Even just let him run outside and get hit by a truck. He still stands by the point that it’s the worst 50,000kr Aunt Cecilia has ever spent.

“Oh shit, _Baz_!”

Even was never great at drama- but he’s patting himself on the back for this performance. He’s got it down to a T; the panicked run into the front garden, stopping abruptly where he meets the threshold between house and pavement that makes his tag start to beep, just once, in warning. He immediately takes around five steps back, hands in his hair, looking extra distressed as Baz makes his way warily into the road and rolls onto his back, looking about as _least_ in-danger as he can manage.

 _Fuck_ Baz. Even wants to strangle the thing.

“Hey- do you need help?”

Clearly, the boy next door truly _is_ an angel sent from God. Despite the fact that Baz is hardly ten feet away from the limit of Even’s permitted, lounging comfortably in the sun, he’s actually gone out of his way to walk over and rescue the daft thing. Even does a good show of looking relieved, a hand over his heart and a slurry of thanks as the boy walks into the road and scoops the cat up into his arms, walking him up to the gate. It’s the only thing between them now, one tiny wooden gate- along with Even’s cock-blocking ankle tag.

The boy hands the cat over the threshold, and _fuck_ , Even has to let go of the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding because he _is_ even more beautiful face to face than he was through the thick glass of both their bedroom windows.

This close, Even can see his eyes and his soft, brown lashes and adores them for several seconds too long until the boy-next-door is looking away, down at the floor, the faintest blush on his silky-soft looking cheeks. His eyes are green, of course, and they’re absolutely fucking perfect. They’re the kind of eyes people wax poetry about. Even knows, within mere seconds, that he could make a whole movie based on just one glint from this boy’s fucking _eyes_.

“So,” Even takes the cat into his arms and does his best to look suave. It doesn’t work, because Baz has a clawing fit immediately and leaps from his hold, darting back into the house. Even bites his lip, doing his best to ignore the hissing. “Come here often?”

The boy stills, blinking flatly.

 “I… uh, I live next door.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of his house stiffly, and Even’s just about ready to run out into the road, get hit by a car and then hauled away by the police for violating his probation, twice.

 _Come here often_ , he chides himself. _Are you mentally deficient? Have you lost your fucking mind more so than usual?_

“Right, yeah.” He pathetically tries to cover his embarrassment, running a hand through his hair a little awkwardly. “Of course, you do. Sorry. I’m Even,” he holds a hand out, and a little hesitantly, the boy-next-door shakes it.

“Isak.”

“ _Isak_.” Even repeats, even though he’s pretty sure he was meant to just say the name over and over in his head, rather than out loud. It’s a perfectly pretty name for a perfectly pretty boy. Even wants to say it a thousand times, write in his journal, paint it on his wall- he wouldn’t mind moaning it with Isak’s pretty lips working across his skin either- but that’s hardly appropriate for their first, official meeting. He shakes his head, remembering a few seconds too late that he’s _still_ shaking Isak’s hand, and reluctantly drops it. “I saw you moving in a few weeks ago. How is everything?”

“It’s uh… moving, yeah.” Isak shrugs, taking his hand back slowly. “Sort of weird, getting used to the new house.” He looks over, squinting in the sunlight, and Even’s not quite sure he’s ever seen anyone make squinting look so adorable. “I’ve never moved before.”

“What brings you to this neighbourhood?” He asks, thankful that Isak hadn’t bolted the moment he held his hand for five minutes and started muttering his name underneath his breath. He’s still staring like a total creep- but Even can’t help himself. In the glowing, daytime sunlight, Isak is fucking beautiful- from the curls to his eyes to his lithe, athletic build. He’s Even’s fucking dream boy- seriously- where can he buy a poster?

Isak looks away from his intense study, a little shy. “Oh just… change of scenery I guess.” He mumbles under his breath, avoiding eye contact- but Even’s sure he can make out the ghost of a smile on the boy’s face. If anything, Isak’s coy shyness makes him fifty thousand times more attractive. Even just wants to stare at him for hours, because every time he _does_ catch Isak’s eye for a few seconds, he feels like he’s been invited into something secret and addictive. _That’s_ how gone he is for this boy he doesn’t even know.

“That’s cool-”

“ _Isak_!”

Even wants to swear, stamp his foot, clutch his fist. He settles on biting the inside of his cheek very sharply instead as Isak’s father waves him over from the porch of their house.

“Isak, come here. Mamma is on the phone.”

“Shit.” Isak stiffens, looking up at Even apologetically. “I’m sorry. I should go-” he gestures awkwardly to the house, taking a few steps away from Even’s fence. “Sorry.” He says again. Even shakes his head and does his best to smile.

“Thanks for helping me with the cat!”

This time, Isak doesn’t look away when Even dares to meet his eye. He smiles.

“No problem, Even.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short second part. thanks for all the comments on the first! hope u enjoy this.


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beer, weed, kardemomme. the three easiest ways into a teenage boy's heart.

Even could probably have a wet dream about the fact that Isak even said his name- but after doing some deep introspection and realising just quite how pathetic that actually sounds, he resigns himself to another night with his binoculars instead.

He’s sort of trying to give up the watcher-lifestyle, but the moment he catches glimpse of Isak through the curtains that are _always fucking open_ , his fingers are dancing across his desk, over to his binoculars. Isak isn’t doing anything interesting, just walking around his room, playing with a small hand-weight in one hand and texting in the other. Of course, there is the added incentive that he’s shirtless, which of course drives Even to keep watching for just a _few more minutes_ until he’s been pathetically in-love enough to warrant some sleep. And then something different happens. Something that has never happened before.

Isak looks over.

He’s never looked over before. It’s probably the only reason Even has let the whole _watching_ charade go on for so long, because despite the proximity of their windows and the fact that Isak’s curtains are never closed, not once has the boy-next-door ever realised just _how_ fucking creepy he actually is.

Nothing lasts forever. Even was really starting to think that he’d learned that lesson enough times for it to stick- but here he is, trapped in a staring match with the one person he was sort of hoping didn’t think he was a complete nutcase.

They’re frozen in a mutual stare-off of sorts, until Even realises just quite how insane the situation is and flails like he’s been electrocuted, dropping the binoculars and leaping to the floor, underneath the window with his back against the wall where Isak can’t see him any longer.

It’s entirely too late. Obviously, Isak fucking saw him. The fact that he then sprang out of his seat and collapsed onto the ground probably makes him look even more insane than he did already, sat with his legs propped up on his desk with a pair of binoculars held up to his eyes.

But it’s too late to undo the mistakes of the past. That’s another lesson Even learnt the hard way and is still apparently learning.

 

 

**_MIKAEL_ **

_MIKAEL (21:25)_

_SOS (21:25)_

_FUCKING SOS (21:25)_

_(21:28) Even?_

_(21:28) what’s wrong?_

_ISAK SAW ME (21:29)_

_I’VE FUCKING BLOWN IT (21:30)_

_(21:31) Who’s Isak?_

_Isak is the fucking boy next door!!!! (21:32)_

_(21:33) So you actually spoke to him?_

_(21:33) Finally. Nice one bro!_

_Right so I finally spoke to him and got his name and stuff (21:34)_

_he’s fucking beautiful (21:34)_

_and he’s shy and cute and… (21:35)_

_fuck he’s amazing but I’ve blown it (21:35)_

_(21:36) How have you blown it already?_

_I wanted to see him again and I have no self-control (21:38)_

_so I watched him through his window (21:39)_

_AND HE FUCKING TURNED AROUND AND SAW ME (21:39)_

_BINOCULARS OUT AND EVERYTHING (21:40)_

_THE ONLY WAY IT COULDVE BEEN WORSE WOULD BE IF MY DICK WAS IN MY FUCKING HAND (21:40)_

_(21:41) Hahahaa oh shit bro_

_(21:41) that’s actually so terrible_

_(21:42) Funny as shit though_

_you’re no fucking help (21:43)_

_I’m going to bed (21:43)_

_Hopefully I die in my sleep or something so I never see him again (21:44)_

_(21:45) I’m sure it’s not that bad_

_(21:46) maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he’s turned on by stalking_

_(21:46) pls don’t die in your sleep_

_(21:47) Night brroooooooo <3333_

_< 3  no promises (21:48)_

 

* * *

 

 

Content to resign to a life of loneliness now that even young, beautiful Isak knows just how insane he is, Even reclines on his bed and gets to work through his third re-watch of The Get Down, attention pulled only occasionally to check if Mikael’s on his break at work yet and is capable of texting him back.

(he isn’t and/or hasn’t. Even tries not to feel bitter and lonely about it. _Tries._ )

He’s halfway through the third episode of the first season when his attention is caught by something else- a faint knocking at the front door. This strikes him as odd- the house doesn’t exactly _get_ many random visitors or door-to-door salesmen due to the crippling suburban isolation, and all his friends usually have the courtesy of texting before they arrive. They don’t just _do_ random visits, but a tiny part of Even does hope that maybe it might be Mikael, checking up on him. For a second he worries if the crush that crippled his third year (amongst other, more psychiatric issues) is reforming, but when he thinks of Mikael’s cute face and soft hair he doesn’t get that same burning in his chest anymore. That feeling is saved for a certain blonde someone else who lives next door and thinks he’s a giant creep. Even isn’t sure which option is better: crushing on Isak, or crushing on Mikael. Both seem to bring him equal pain. Maybe he should just stick to liking girls.

Even opens the door without bothering to look through the peephole and garner who it is. He isn’t particularly interested, looking forward to sending whoever it is on their merry way and snuggling back into bed to watch Baz Lurhmann’s genius unfold in a ten-episode mini-series about the black youth and the power of music in 1970s America.

So, without care, he throws the door open and glares at the person on the other side. Only, his glare immediately shifts into a wide, panicked expression when he realises it’s _Isak_ , looking effortlessly beautiful in an oversized sweater and skinny jeans and a red snapback, standing less than a foot away from him, looking equally as startled by Even’s aggression.

“Uh… hi?” he says, after a few moments of tense silence. Even swallows thickly.

“Isak. Hi.”

“I uh…” Isak looks around awkwardly, before finally meeting his eye. “I sort of got locked out of my house. Forgot my keys and then this died,” he held up a gold IPhone, waving it in the air. “I was wondering if maybe I could borrow a charger? So I can call my dad?”

Even is stunned. After the events of yesterday, he was fairly sure that would be the last he’d ever see of Isak Valtersen. When he woke up in the morning, Isak’s bedroom curtains were closed. Even wasn’t planning on ever laying eyes on the boy again, but here they are, Isak standing opposite him with nerves shaking his voice, holding up a dead IPhone and asking for his help when he literally could’ve walked to any other house on the street. Even closes his eyes for just a second and thanks God for the opportunity to redeem himself.

“Is that cool?” Isak asks, still stood awkwardly on the doorstep. Even springs backwards.

“Of course!” Even knows he sounds too eager, stepping back so Isak can walk in whilst simultaneously feeling very self-conscious about his grubby white t-shirt and sweatpants that haven’t been washed in several days, but obviously, he wasn’t quite expecting guests. “I- uh, there’s a charger in the kitchen, here- follow me.”

Isak plugs his phone in with a shy smile, watching at the battery icon appears, flashing red. It’ll be a good ten minutes or so before his phone even turns back on- and even longer until it charges. Knowing his time is limited, Even decides that it’s now or never if he wants to get on Isak’s good side. He doesn’t know anything about the boy other than the fact that he likes Narcos and Football and maybe other boys, but there’s one thing he can always rely on to attract any teenager, regardless of gender or sexuality.

“Do you want a beer?”

Isak smiles at him. “Sure.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start. Isak standing in his kitchen, one hand tucked into his front pocket, a can of beer in his hand that he seems to be enjoying. Even takes a sip of his and doesn’t look away from Isak’s face. The other boy notices and blushes, looking down at the ground.

Even knows he needs something else to pull Isak in if he’s intending on making him stay around for a while. He’s a teenager, with a free house, and if this is his only chance to reap the rewards, then so be it.

“Do you smoke?” he asks, and Isak frowns.

“Like, cigarettes?”

Even shakes his head. There’s a second where brief, genuine confusion flashes across Isak’s face and Even wonders if he really is younger than he looks- and Even’s corrupted him firstly with alcohol and now an offer of drugs, but soon it is replaced by a slow stretching smile as he takes another sip and nods, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a packet of long rolling papers and a lighter.

“We’ll have to smoke in my room, my parents will kill me otherwise.” Even takes a daring step forward, looking away from Isak for a second just to glance over at his phone, which is still steadily charging. Isak doesn’t seem to be too bothered about calling his dad anymore and just nods, before stepping aside so Even can lead the way. He does- taking the box of beers out of the fridge and tucking it under his arm, before nodding for Isak to follow him up, doing his best to fight the grin off his face.

 

//

 

 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know _Nas_.”

“I told you- I had! I just didn’t realise that song was his, okay?” Isak giggles, on the perfect side of high with a big, floaty smile and a hankering for snacks and a slightly pink edge to the whites of his pretty green eyes. Even’s a little more sober than he is- taking it easy on the beers and only getting through two, whilst Isak’s on his fourth. Besides, he knows better than to get drunk _and_ high whilst operating the oven, grinning as he slides out two perfectly grotesque smelling grilled cheeses.

“It’s _awful_.” Isak groans, gagging a little. Even just laughs.

“It’s so bad, it’s almost _good_.”

“Nei!” Isak is adamant, and it’s about as animated as Even has ever seen him. He loves it- even though the edge of shyness that’s followed Isak through each and every one of their encounters is adorable as all hell, watching him be confident and funny and most of all, _comfortable_ in Even’s presence is even hotter. By this point, Even’s starting to wonder if Isak even saw him at all, only a night before. He hasn’t mentioned anything. “It’s so bad it got worse in my mouth. Jesus Christ.” He drops the sandwich on the empty plate, shaking his head. “I’m not even hungry anymore. I think you killed my munchies.”

“I don’t think my taste-buds work anymore anyway. I think the kardemomme burnt them off.” Even says, speech slurred just a little as he taps his fingers against the wooden floor. Despite there being a table right behind them, for some reason, he and Isak migrated to the floor and made themselves comfortable there, unfinished plates left between them. It occurs to Even just a second too late that he really could stay like this forever- he isn’t sure how many hours have ticked by, but when he’s with Isak the time just flies. There isn’t a single awkward silence or instance of stilted small-talk. They just _flow_ , and it’s so fucking refreshing.

“Hey.” Isak says, after a while, and Even grins at him, “I just have to ask something…” Isak trails off, eyes fixed on the ground as he draws shapes in the wood with the tip of his finger. Even is so enchanted, watching the way his hands move, he doesn’t even notice the nervous look on Isak’s face until it’s too late, and the question has already been released into the air they share, floating between them.

“This might sound like a weird question but… um… have you been, like, _watching_ me?”

Even lifts his head immediately, body stiff with shock. He stares at Isak, and hesitantly, Isak looks back. Even swallows thickly. There’s two ways he can go about this. Denial is the first that springs to mind, but he remembers the way Isak looked at him, through the window. They definitely saw each other. Denying it now would not only put more space between them, but it would probably piss Isak off.

Which means all that is left, unfortunately, is the truth.

Even bites his lip. “Shit, so you did notice?”

With a smile so tiny Even is sure he’s just imagining it to make himself feel better, Isak nods. Even covers his face with his hands. Embarrassed isn’t even the word. He’s so fucking used to getting his hopes dashed, but still, somehow, his mind pushes itself time and time again. For an hour or so there, he was really starting to think that he and Isak had a chance. Now he knows all hope is definitely lost, and it’s all his fault, _again._

“Sorry! Shit, that must sound so creepy.” He groans, figuring that if he’s going to tell the truth, he may as well try to explain himself. “I’m not like… _watching_ you, not like _that_ \- I just… it’s hard, locked up in here all day, you know? I watch everyone- not in a creepy way! I just watch over the neighbourhood and see what everyone’s up to and you’re just… you’re interesting. And I like that? I guess? I’m so sorry-”

“It’s cool.” Isak interrupts him, and Even stills again. If there was anything he was expecting to hear Isak say in response, it certainly wasn’t _it’s cool_ , followed by a shy, pink-cheeked glance to the ground and a small smile. “I don’t mind you watching me.”

And there it is again- hope, flickering in his chest. Even wonders if he’ll ever learn his fucking lesson. Apparently today isn’t the day either.

“I just get bored. That’s all.” He says, giving Isak the chance to take it all back, run and hide and get as far away from him as possible. Because he _knows_ , even now, the second Isak lets him in… Even wont be able to let go. Not without devastating, earth-shattering consequences.

Isak, pure as ever, just shrugs his shoulders.

“If you’re bored, I don’t mind coming over and hanging out again.”  


Even now knows he isn’t going to learn his lesson any time soon.


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even is expecting it to start slowly...

 

 

Even is expecting it to start slowly. A smile shot from across their front gardens as he lingers for an extra fifteen minutes whilst checking the mail, hoping to catch a glimpse. Maybe a funny text, or an outdated facebook meme now that they have each other’s information. He’s expecting to have to fight for Isak’s attention, even just a little.

But this isn’t a book, or a movie. This is real life and it starts quickly.

Every other day at least, Even answers his door just after midday with his hair still wet from the shower and Isak is on the other side, bundled up in the latest choice from his oversized hoodie collection paired with a different colour snapback. Sometimes, he’ll bring the weed Even asks him to pick up- sometimes it’s a few lukewarm beers stolen from his dad. Even doesn’t care about either. The only part he looks forward to is _Isak_.

They call each other _dude_ and _bro_ , which he doesn’t like at all. It feels so forced and unnecessary- he can see right through Isak, and knows that’s his way of keeping distance between them, keeping everything nice and friendly and _straight_ , despite the lingering looks he knows he _isn’t_ imagining that keep getting shot his way. He isn’t even sure if Isak’s aware of quite how obvious he is in his attraction, but he’s certainly not going to say anything. Even’s been in that position himself- feeling things for other people that he didn’t necessarily think he should feel. Putting them down to other emotions interfering until finally, he bit the bullet and accepted the fact that he liked who he liked, and gender didn’t really play into it. Clearly, Isak’s still waiting for the similar realisation of his own. Even isn’t going to push him into it for the sake of an aching crush that still, annoyingly, won’t leave.

He can’t help himself. Now he has Isak within touching distance, it’s hard not to bump shoulders when they lay back on the bed and smoke together, or brush his foot against Isak’s for the briefest of seconds when they sit on opposite ends of the windowsill and talk about the world and music and the meaning of life. For once, Even isn’t cursing his fucking house arrest, because he can hardly think of anything better than _this_ , locked up all day with Isak, smoking and philosophising and gazing at each other from across the room when the other isn’t looking. He could get used to this. He just might have to get used to this.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you ended up with this thing?” Isak laughs, lifting Even’s ankle up and toying with the stiff beeping anklet as they sit on opposite ends of the best. Even rolls his eyes.

“Are you ever going to stop asking me?”

Isak’s smile is beautiful. It’s thin and fragile and just a little bit childish- like a smug eight-year-old who’s ice cream came out bigger than his friend’s. Even fucking can’t resist it- not that he really tries hard enough.

“No.”

“Fine.”

Even tells him the story. It’s a heavily edited version- playing himself more as a badass anti-hero rather than a greatly confused, mentally ill teenager. Still, Isak believes every word from his mouth without question as if it is gospel, eyes widening at all the right parts, mouth falling open when Even’s fist sails through the air and connects with his teachers jaw. Even wants to reach forward and rest his thumb against Isak’s pert bottom lip, but instead he balls his hands into fists and keeps them underneath the pillow he’s hugging against his stomach, for safekeeping and _not_ to conceal the fact that every time he looks at Isak for two long, his dick gets a little too far ahead of his brain.

“You’re actually sort of a bad ass. I can’t believe it.”

“What do you mean you can’t believe it?” Even laughs. “Of course I’m a badass. What else would I be?”

“I thought you were just a lanky film nerd.” Isak teases back and Even lets one hand fly to his chest, mouth falling open, pretending to be offended. It’s their favourite game- ribbing on each other followed by pretty pouts and conceited gasps. They never last long- always dissolving into giggles before the other has chance to feign apology.

“Isak, you wound me. you won’t be sneering like this when I’m defending your honour out in the real world.”

“You’ll have to wait until you ditch this before you do any defending.” Isak rolls his eyes, prodding the cuff again. “You can defend my honour when you start at Nissen.”

And there it is again: the deathly embrace of hope. Since finding out that Isak goes to _Hartvig Nissen Skole_ \- Even’s heart had sped up by a fraction of a second and hasn’t slowed down since. It’s almost been a week. He still hasn’t returned to normal. The prospect of seeing Isak every day- amongst hundreds of other people- fills him with the exact kind of hope he’s been trying to avoid. Because he can _see_ it- every time he shuts his eyes to go to sleep at night he pictures Isak and himself, hand in hand, walking through the school gates with matching big smiles and wearing each other’s clothes. Pressing Isak against the lockers and kissing him senseless between classes- surprising him with McDonald’s at lunch or an extra waffle from the cafeteria. Even’s greedy for his dream to become a reality. He can’t imagine going to school with Isak any other way, least alone as _bros_.

He’s got the summer to work on it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jonas is my best friend.” Isak says, maybe a little too wistful in tone for Even’s liking as he points to eyebrow-boy, smiling behind his phone screen, Isak’s finger brushing across his face softly. “And that’s his ex-girlfriend, Eva.” He says, a little more sour. This makes Even’s gut sink even lower. He bites his lip and hopes it isn’t obvious, leaning in closer so his face his hovering over Isak’s shoulder, staring at his phone. Isak pretends not to notice Even’s breath, warm against the skin of his neck, but he does squirm just a little bit and in the reflection of his phone, Even catches a tiny smile. He flicks across to the next photo, four boys; Isak, Jonas and the two others Even had seen lingering outside the house. “That’s Magnus and Mahdi. I don’t really know them that well but, they seem cool and they like to smoke. That’s sort of our group, at the moment. It was just me and Jonas for a long time- and then Eva too but… now we’ve got like, real friends.”

“That sounds chill.”

Isak looks back, over his shoulder, at Even. He’s obviously underestimated how close together they are, and when he turns, their noses almost brush just for a second. Even wants to lean even closer, happy to relish in every second of Isak’s skin, touching his, but he knows better than that. He leans away slightly. Isak doesn’t move.

“It is.” He nods, looking down in that shy, adorable way Even loves to watch. “What about you? Do you still have friends from Bakka?”

Even nods. “Ja, I have a group of friends. Mikael is probably my best friend and then there’s Yousef, Elias, Mutta and Adam. Mikael was there when I had, uh, my incident.” He explains, and Isak nods along with the story. “He’s pretty awesome. There for me and shit. He’s been over to hang out a bunch of times, fills me in on everything I’m missing during house arrest.”

“Ja,” Isak keeps on nodding, like a fucking dashboard toy inside a car. “You text him a lot.” It’s a throwaway comment, said without much thought, but immediately after, Even watches Isak’s cheeks flush red and resists the urge to grin, smug. _Okay_ , he thinks to himself. _So you’ve noticed._

“He’s a good friend.” He reiterates, hoping to talk Isak off the ledge just a little bit. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a crush on him or anything.”

 _Wow_ , internally, he kicks himself. _Subtle._

“Ha, of course not.” Isak shakes his head, still avoiding Even’s eyes. “That would be dumb. You’re not gay or anything, I know.”

“Well.” Even says, and Isak freezes. “I wouldn’t say I’m gay, no.”

“No?” he repeats, sounding just a little more disappointed l than he probably wants to. Even just smiles.

“I suppose I just like a bit of everything.” He says, keeping it casual despite the way his heart feels like it’s about to bust out of his chest, leaning back against the headboard. Isak finally lifts his head, face flushed with embarrassment, but for the briefest, fleeting second, Even catches the same hope shining in his eyes that he feels every time he looks over.

“Cool.” Isak says. “That’s chill.”

Even agrees. “Yeah. It is.”


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak and Even take a big step

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

Even doesn’t see Isak for two days after that, but he tries not to worry too much. They still text, still send each other shitty memes and song recommendations, but he doesn’t physically see Isak again until a full forty-eight hours after their stilted sexuality conversation, lingering on his doorstep shyly with a six-pack of beers tucked underneath his arms.

“Isak! I was starting to think you’d gotten sick of me.” Even jokes, happy to feel the tension ebb away when Isak lifts his gaze to meet Even’s eye and smiles.

“Oh, I definitely have, a while ago.” he jokes. “I just come here for the free weed.”

 “I’ll start charging you soon.” Even teases back, and the grin on Isak’s mouth sparkles. They wander upstairs together, Even talking excitedly and nervously about nothing and everything- the film he wants to show Isak, the new dealer he’s thinking of picking up off next time he runs low, his mother’s new obsession with celebrity work-out DVDs; he’s rambling, and it’s embarrassingly obvious, but Isak nods along to every word without question. Even can’t help it. Isak just makes him _nervous_ , and especially after the subject matter of their last conversation, it feels almost as if an invisible line has been crossed between them. Even can’t put his finger on _what_ exactly it is that has changed, but there’s a new kind of energy crackling between them as they lay back side-by-side on Even’s bed, movie long finished, weed smoked, windows open. Isak shivers at the slight chill, and unconsciously, moves closer to Even so their arms are pressed together.

“What’s really interesting is the infinity.” Isak says. His voice is hoarse from the smoke, eyes ringed red and expression just short of dreamy. Even turns his head to face him and his heart swells above three sizes. Here, with a grey hoodie that at least two sizes too big for him, hood pulled up over his pretty curls and eyes wide as he stares into nothing, Isak is the most beautiful Even has ever seen him. And that’s _not_ just because he’s high.

“What’s that?” he asks- and it isn’t because he’s unfamiliar with the concept of infinity. He just wants to hear Isak talk in that wistful, passionate voice for hours and hours and maybe forever.

“All the parallel universes,” Isak rambles, eyes trained directly on his, quivering every time he blinks. Isak is looking at Even as if _he_ has the answers to the universes secrets, and the passion and power behind just his look is suffocating. Even feels like he’s drowning in Isak’s eyes- and he’s in no rush to swim up for air. “-and all, kind of, how big everything is and how small we are compared to the infinite parallel universes that exist and… everything that _can_ happen is going to happen. Or not just _going_ to happen,” he marvels, eyes growing even wider, eyebrows raised. “it _is_ happening. Somewhere.”

“-I’m sure that…” he says after Even makes no effort to respond, voice lost as his heart shoots into his throat, effectively choking him, “…in a parallel universe there’s an Isak and an Even who’s lying in the exact same way only… like… the curtains are a different colour or something.”

At that, Even smiles. He reaches forwards before thinking, stroking his finger down the side of Isak’s face with a soft laugh.

“So, yellow curtains then?” he asks. Isak smiles, rather than stiffens, like Even was fearing he would.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “Yellow curtains.”

“Okay, _yellow_ curtains.” Even repeats, and it’s weird, how even the simplest of phrases carries so much weight between the two. The way Isak’s lips curl around the _g_ sound and _gule gardiner_ rolls off his tongue. Fuck, Even could hear it on and on for hours. “I think you’ve had enough jay now.” He says instead, hoping his desperation isn’t radiating.

“Shut-up.” Isak laughs, and then, he’s burrowing even closer. Even’s never had Isak’s face this close to his before- close enough to feel the warmth of his breath and spy every freckle and spot and blemish on his face. It makes him nervous- despite the fact that he’s the one who’s fairly confident in his sexuality whereas Isak couldn’t say the word _gay_ a few days ago without breaking eye contact.

“Haven’t you ever thought about that?” he asks excitedly. Even can’t _stop_ thinking about it- but it doesn’t reassure nor excite him the way that it does Isak.

“Yeah but… I don’t know. It makes me feel kind of lonely. I don’t like it.” he replies with an unwavering honesty that surprises even himself. It isn’t just an excuse to pull Isak into further conversation. The idea of the infinity and the vastness of the universe around them makes his stomach twist just slightly and his heart sink.

“Why not?” Isak’s voice is soft and quiet and almost a little guilty in tone, like a child who’s upset their parent by accident. Even bites his lip and it takes the little resolve he has left not to just lean in and kiss Isak right there for his candour.

“I don’t know.” He says. “It freaks me out. Like… feeling alone. It’s your head and all of your thoughts. That kind of… the _mind is alone_ feeling, I don’t know.”

“ _The mind is alone_?” Isak repeats, laughing softly. “What does that mean?”

“Because,” Even sighs. “the only thing that exists is you and your thoughts, right? You can’t escape your own thoughts.” It’s the demons Even had been doing his best to forget about- taking his meds and seeing his therapist and trying to just _go on_ and be normal. But, unaspiringly, here, laid with Isak, everything feels different. Even feels more naked than he ever did next to Sonja with their clothes thrown onto the floor. The strong stone walls built to protect his heart and his mind start to crumble with just a whisper of Isak’s words. He’s so young- there’s barely two years between them in age but the hope in Isak’s eyes tells Even that Isak is still _so fucking young_ , and so full of hope and so ready to take the infinity on headfirst and probably have a shot at winning.

Even isn’t sure if he’s got that same strength.

Isak stops talking then, as if he’s absorbing all the information Even has accidentally unloaded on him. Even doesn’t say anything- he just looks at Isak, really _looks_ at him, and notices how close they are. It would be easy- it would be _so fucking easy_ just to lean in and kiss him. Even wants too- and he’s fairly sure Isak wants it too. They’ve had all this time- playing best friends under the guise of innocent hang-outs and an unhealthy amount of weed just so they have an excuse to be together. If Even doesn’t make his move now- he isn’t sure he ever will. Sometimes in life, you just have to take risks. If Isak leaps back six feet and never wants to see him again, so be it. Even doesn’t think he can just _go on_ being Isak’s friend anymore, not after this.

So he’ll do it. He’s spent the last twenty seconds of silence psyching himself up as Isak lays barely inches away from his face, staring with uncertainty. The only philosophy Even does his best to believe in is that you are _the director of your own life_. He’s the director of this epic romance. That means it’s time to make a move and just fucking kiss-

Isak leans forwards, clumsy and scared but _determined_ , cutting Even off mid-thought to press their lips together. Even is too taken aback to even respond to the kiss for the first few seconds, and Isak springs back off him, eyes wide and panicked as Even stares- just _stares_ , because he can’t quite believe what is happening.

There’s nothing to say. Isak’s breathing is getting faster as he panics, so Even reaches forwards and pulls him in, smashing his mouth against Isak’s with reckless abandon, weaving one hand through his golden hair and using the other to stroke his face. Isak kisses like his body can’t decide whether he’s shy or turned on- one hand fisting in the bottom of Even’s shirt as if he’s considering pulling it off, eyes shut tightly, lips mostly closed. Even won’t have that- he opens his own mouth even wider, tongue prodding at the seam of Isak’s lips until he relaxes, opening his mouth and allowing the two to melt into each other.

It seems, once Isak’s got his start, he doesn’t want to stop. Even pulls away to grin and maybe say something short and cheesy several times- but Isak doesn’t give him a chance, diving back into the kiss with more confidence each time, pulling himself closer and closer to Even until Even just _caves_ , and grabs Isak by the hips, rolling over so he can press Isak into the mattress and kiss him _properly_.

They kiss until Even’s lips hurt, until Isak nibbles on his lip hard enough to draw blood and the younger boy pulls back, a little startled at the metallic taste that worms its way between them but mostly amused, reaching forwards and wiping Even’s mouth softly with the pad of his thumb.

“Shit, sorry.”

Even couldn’t care less. He’s too busy smiling like a fucking idiot to notice the faint throbbing pain in his bottom lip.  “You totally stole my idea.” He beams, and Isak frowns.

“Huh?”

“I was about to kiss you!” Even laughs, hands resting either side of Isak’s head so he can hover over him, “I was about to ask if I could kiss you and it was going to be so fucking romantic- our _first_ kiss, and you _ruined_ it! You just… _kissed me_!”

Isak’s frown deepens, and his nose scrunches up in the most fucking adorable way, making Even’s heart stutter again. “Did you not _want_ me to kiss you?” he asks, and Even nearly collapses. _Not_ want Isak to kiss him? There isn’t a parallel universe out there in the entire infinity where that would be possible.

“Fy _faen_ , Isak I’ve been thinking about kissing you since the day you moved in. I just wanted it to be special.”

Isak rolls his eyes then, grinning as he plays with the strings of Even’s hoodie, which dangle between them, tying them together.

“I think it was special.” He shrugs, smiling. Even beams back at him.

“Was it your first kiss?” he asks. Isak scoffs, indignant.

“Was I _that bad_?”

“No, course not!” Even laughs. “I didn’t mean it like _that_. I meant like… first kiss with a _boy_.”

“Oh.” Isak’s expression softens. He looks down, away from Even. “Yeah.” It’s almost a whisper of confession. Even doesn’t care. Isak can talk as quietly as he wants to if that means he has an excuse to lean in and listen. “How did you know?” he asks shyly. Even settles down so he isn’t quite on top of Isak anymore, more laid across him, faces still hovering dangerously close together.

“It’s mine too.” He says quietly. “With a boy. I know I like boys but… this is my first _real_ kiss with a boy. I’ve had a girlfriend for the last four years up until like, two months ago.”

“Oh.” Isak sounds surprised, and Even isn’t sure why. He’s been on house arrest for what feels like several years. He wasn’t exactly _getting it on_ with anyone else. “Well I’ve kissed girls.” He says, but the expression on his face reveals far more than he probably wants to. Even can very easily ascertain from the frown that cant be fought that Isak does _not_ like girls the way he does. “At parties and I sort of had a girlfriend a few months ago too but…” he pauses, taking in a slow breath before finally looking Even in the eye. “I don’t like girls.” He says, and magically, his expression relaxes. Even knows the feeling. Once you say it out loud… well, every day gets just that little bit easier.

“Not at all?”

“No. I like you. And… well, yeah. I’m… I’m _gay_.” Isak swallows around nothing. “I-I haven’t told anybody that before.”

As coming-outs go, Even thinks for Isak, it’s perfect. It’s quiet and understated but the relief that washes over his face and ebbs the tension from his body covers them both like a wave. Even leans forwards, and kisses Isak on the tip of his nose. _It’s okay_ , he wants to say. _There is nothing wrong with you._

He doesn’t want to scare Isak, so instead, he makes a confession of his own.

“I’m pansexual. I have told people that before but… now I’m telling you. I’m pansexual and I like you a lot.” He smiles, and Isak grins back.

“Pansexual? Isn’t that just like… you like everyone?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Even shrugs. “I’m not too bothered about the whole gender thing. Boy, girl, neither, both. If you’re hot you’re hot, right?”

“Okay. I get it. I still only like boys though.” His nose wrinkles again, “I don’t find girls _hot_.”

“Okay.” Even nods. He smiles. “That’s chill.”

“That’s chill.” Isak repeats, tilting his head up nervously, asking for another kiss. Even won’t deprive Isak of a kiss ever again as long as he lives. He doesn’t hesitate before leaning in, pulling Isak’s lip into his own. The kiss is brief and mostly chaste- but it’s comforting and relieving and Even actually feels a little emotionally overwhelmed because _Isak_ is kissing him and all this is really happening- not as a fever dream or hopeful fantasy. It’s _real_ life- because they’re living in the parallel universe where Even kisses Isak, and he doesn’t turn away.

“Nobody knows I’m gay.” Isak whispers after they part, eyes betraying the forced calm in his voice. Even nods.

“Well, I don’t know anyone you know.” He says, knowing reassuring Isak right now is the best thing he can do. Just because he’s admitted his sexuality here and now doesn’t exactly mean he’s going to be screaming it from the rooftops or stopping strangers in the street. It’s a potentially long journey Isak has ahead of him, just to become comfortable in himself. Even has no qualms with being along for the ride. “-and it isn’t like I can randomly run outside and tell the world.” They both laugh as Even looks down the bed, gesturing to his flashing ankle. “So,” he turns back to Isak, leaning into him with a pleased smirk, “…with that in mind… would you be so inclined to-”

“-shut up and kiss me again.” Isak grins, and Even would pay good money to see that happy, relaxed look on his face forever. Thin arms fly up to wrap around the back of his shoulders, and just a little, Isak parts his legs so Even can rest between them.

“You ruined it! again!” he laughs, but he can’t resist Isak for long- so he dives in, capturing Isak’s lips in the perfect kiss, large hands threaded through his pretty blonde hair.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s only a few days later when Even notices his binoculars, abandoned on the desk. Since their first kiss- and the many kisses that followed, he hadn’t really given much thought to the efforts he’d once taken just to catch a glimpse of Isak across the window. He hasn’t thought about anything _but_ Isak- and his soft mouth and wet tongue and the way his hands grip Even’s hair tightly like he’s scared to let go. They haven’t done anything more than kiss, and Even’s sort of thankful. He doesn’t want Isak to get the wrong idea- like Even’s only using him for sex or rushing him into something he isn’t ready for. He’s perfectly happy to go at a snail’s pace- because every second he spends with Isak’s skin so much as pressed against his is more heart-racing than any orgasm.

But, despite not pushing for anything more than a kiss, Isak is a _fucking tease_. A few seconds after he notices the binoculars laid on the desk he notices Isak, stood in front of his open window in nothing but a pair of football shorts, looking sweaty and glowing with a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s probably just come in from kicking his football around the garden and he _certainly_ notices Even looking, smiling and giving a small wave as Even reaches for his binoculars and draws them to his eyes. Isak is grinning as Even’s gaze rakes up and down his body. Even has always thought of Isak as small- but sometimes he forgets that _everyone_ is small to him. Isak is relatively tall for his age and more built than Even had initially assumed. He’s got _abs_ , for God’s sake. Needless to say, the heaving chest and short breaths and flirty gaze is doing nothing innocent to him- and Even forgets just a second too late that Mikael is on his way over.

The doorbell rings and he drops the binoculars as if he’s been burnt. Isak just laughs at him, before waving a silent goodbye and disappearing from the room. Even groans, but he supposes Isak likes him enough by now to put up with his embarrassing behaviour. He frowns all the way down the stairs, feeling pretty robbed of the show he was about to potentially witness, before finding a smiling soft-looking Mikael, stood on his porch.

“Hey! Why so miserable?”

Even rolls his eyes. “I’m not miserable. You just distracted me from something.”

“From _what_?” Mikael scoffs, following Even up the stairs. It occurs to Even only then that the last update he gave his best friend on the whole Isak situation involved him getting caught out as the peeping tom he was. He’s been so caught up in everything _Isak_ over the last week or so- he hadn’t even had time to inform his best friend. “Jerking off to the pretty boy-next-door again?”

Even bites back a grin as they enter his room. He looks across to Isak’s bedroom, but sadly, his boy is gone.

“Not _jerking_ off, no.” he laughs.

“How are things with that?” Mikael flops down on his bed, playing with his phone absentmindedly. “Finished with your pining yet? Actually having real conversation with him?”

“Things took a surprising turn in the last week or so, actually.” He admits, unable to hide the smugness in his tone nor in his expression. Mikael drops his phone and looks over to Even, frowning.

“What?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually managed to hold conversation for over five minutes without spontaneously combusting?”

“We’ve been hanging out, yeah.”

Mikael frowns. “You sound fucking smitten. And you’re grinning like a cat that’s been served an entire can of fucking whipped cream.” He sits up, sceptical in tone. “What aren’t you telling me Even? You’ve been hanging out, okay? So _what?”_

“It’s nothing.” Even shrugs, trying and instantly failing to be nonchalant. He should know by now that Mikael knows him far better than anyone- and can see through his lies with practiced ease. One raise of a dark eyebrow and he’s caught. “Okay- maybe not _nothing_. Just… uh- well,” he grins, unable to fight it off any longer. He may not be able to scream it from the rooftops, but it’s pretty exciting having at least _one_ person he can tell about Isak. “We kissed.” He announces, like a fucking twelve-year-old girl at a sleepover party. “We fucking _kissed_ , Mikael, and I swear he’s my fucking soulmate. God- he’s like a drug. I’m hooked.” He collapses in the desk chair, spinning around wistfully as Mikael stares at him, dumbfounded. “It’s crazy. We’re keeping the whole thing quiet because, well Isak is still in the closet to everyone- including his friends and family. But yeah- he and I are like… a thing now, I guess?” he grins. He and Isak haven’t put a label on what it is they’re doing, but Even’s confident enough in saying it’s a _thing._ A very good _thing_ , that he would certainly enjoy furthering, exponentially. “A thing.” he repeats. “I guess all my desperation finally paid off.” He looks back over to Mikael who- surprisingly- isn’t grinning along with him and patting him on the back for finally moving on from Sonja. Actually, Mikael is still pensive, frowning only slightly, hand tucked underneath his chin. Even feels his grin drop. “What? aren’t you happy for me?”

“No, I am- I really am!” Mikael is quick to respond, and for now, Even believes him. “It’s just… be careful, yeah Ev?”

Even frowns. “Careful? What- like _sex_? I don’t think we’re there yet.” He shakes his head. “Isak can hardly ask me for a kiss without blushing. And I really don’t need the safe sex talk from-”

“ _Not_ sex.” Mikael huffs, folding his arms. “I mean with the kid. Securing him isn’t just some _game_ , right? Especially if he’s in the closet, he’s probably a little freaked out. I just don’t want you rushing into falling in love with the kid headfirst and getting your heart broken if he decides it isn’t what he wants.”

To credit his best friend, Even has never quite thought of it like that. He knows he has to take things slow with Isak. Any fool would- but there is now the lingering doubt instilled by Mikael. Even remembers his own sexuality crises, not too long ago. there were plenty of days where he wasn’t really sure _who_ or _what_ he was, and there was also plenty of days where he convinced himself that the whole thing was _just a phase_.

He isn’t inside Isak’s head. He doesn’t know what stage he’s at with the whole _accepting_ - _your_ - _sexuality_ thing.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighs. “Thanks. I didn’t think of it like that.”

“I know you didn’t.” Thankfully, this time, Mikael smiles. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, you rush into everything head over heels. I can see how smitten you are with him from here.”

Without thinking, Even glances over to Isak’s window and smiles to himself. His boy isn’t there anymore, but that doesn’t matter. Just the idea of him- the memory- has Even grinning like an idiot.

“I’m going to take it as slow or as fast as he wants to. I know I might get my heart broken and I know you’re my best friend so you don’t want to see me hurt but…” he inhales, a little sharply, before leaning back into the chair and swinging from side to side. “I think this is one of those risks I’m just going to have to take.” He admits. “That’s how much I like him. Besides, at least I’m not tripping over myself trying to start conversation anymore. That’s progress.”

Mikael laughs. “Does he know about your incessant stalking?”

“Yes, he’s very aware that I am a giant, psycho stalker.” Even grins. “Somehow he didn’t immediately run off in the other direction.”

“You may be giant, and a stalker, but you’re not psycho Even.” Mikael’s voice is soft, devoid of teasing. Even avoids his eye.  “So when do I get to meet your blushing bride?”

“Hopefully no time soon.” Even rolls his eyes. “Now enough about my love-life. How’s the outside world?”


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak finally meets Mikael. Isak and Even have a first.
> 
> (my ao3 glitched like 9 times trying to upload this. sorry for maybe spamming ur notifs lol)

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

Over the course of the next week, Even doesn’t actually see Isak once.

It hurts a little bit- the doubts instilled by Mikael run havoc in the back of his mind, the movies he re-watches feel a little blander than usual without Isak’s innocent wide-eyed wonder and even the weed doesn’t quite taste the same. Nothing really has the same appeal anymore without Isak there beside him.

It isn’t even like he doesn’t _hear_ from him. They still text every day.

****

****

**_Isak_ **

****

**_MANDAG_ **

****

_Hey, come over? (13:02)_

_(13:06) Can’t , with Jonas today, sorry :(_

****

**_TIRSDAG_ **

****

_Mrs 41 told her husband about the affair today (18:05)_

_It was pretty dramatic (18:06)_

_(18:22) sounds awesome_

_Wanna come over and read my notes??? ;) (18:24)_

_(18:26) haha , I wish, but I’m with dad._

_(18:27) sorry <3_

_It’s cool <3 (18:27)_

****

**_ONSDAG_ **

****

_You need to watch brokeback mountain (12:55)_

_(13:08) isn’t that like super gay?_

_You are super gay (13:11)_

_(13:12) Fair point_

_Come over tomorrow? We can watch and cry (13:15)_

_(13:16) can’t tomorrow._

_(13:17) sorry Even <3_

_It’s okay bby (13:18)_

_(13:20) I like when you call me that <3 <3_

_Haha I know you do (13:22)_

_You get this adorable blush (13:23)_

_Face goes all pink (13:23)_

_You’re beautiful (13:23)_

_I could look at you forever (13:24)_

_(13:25) stop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_  
  


_< 3 (13:26)_

****

**_TORSDAG_ **

_Have fun today, whatever it is you’re doing <3 (13:01)_

_(17:25) Sorry I couldn’t come over, bby._

_(17:30) and sorry for my later replies_

_(17:40) I hope you’re not mad_

_sorry, I was in the shower! (17:58)_

_I’m not mad!!!! You’re busy and that’s fine (17:59)_

_(18:05) Okay good I thought you were mad at me_

_(18:06) I promise I’ll make it up to you_

_Well, my parents are going away from tomorrow until Tuesday (18:08)_

_So I’ll definitely die of loneliness if you don’t come and visit me (18:09)_

_Wait (18:11)_

_I hope that didn’t sound really presumptuous (18:11)_

_(18:12) ahahaha it’s cool_

_(18:13) I suppose I wouldn’t want you to die of loneliness_

_You SUPPOSE? I’m heartbroken, bby </3 (18:15)_

 

 

**FREDAG**

_Morning princess Isak <3 (11:02)_

_You still down to come over? (15:45)_

Isak doesn’t reply, and Even does a really good job at _not_ holding it against him. Reading back on his own texts, he wants to smack his former self.

“My parents are out of town?” He reads them aloud, clutching his chest and groaning. “If you don’t come and visit me I’m going to die of loneliness? When the did I turn into such a fuckboy?”

“It all depends on what he replied.” Mikael shrugs, back against the headboard as Even drapes his annoyingly long body over the edge of the bed, feet dangling off the side and ankle bracelet thudding against the wood.

“He said: _Ahaha, it’s cool. I suppose I wouldn’t want you to die of loneliness.”_

Mikael shrugs. “Sounds like you’re in there to me. I mean- c’mon- he _agreed_.”

“Okay, but that was yesterday at 18:00. I haven’t heard from him since.” He sighs, allowing his phone to fall face down against his chest. He tried his best not to let the disappointment show when Mikael came over, but of course, his best friend had noticed it straight away and demanded to know what was up. Even hates how perceptive he is sometimes.

“Try not to lose your shit.” Mikael laughs, nudging him with his toe playfully. “Just put a movie on or something. If he’s free, he’ll text you, okay?”

“Fine.” Even huffs, but he doesn’t make an effort to pretend to be happy about it. “You wanna watch Brokeback Mountain with me?”

“For the fourth time?” Mikael narrows his gaze. “Of course I fucking do.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s around two hours later, and Even is really doing his best _not_ to burst into tears watching the stupidly sad movie that _just fucking gets him every god-damn time-_ when the doorbell rings. He frowns, looking at Mikael, who is equally confused. Neither of them were expecting visitors, but it’s Even’s house, so reluctantly he gets up and leave’s Mikael behind (all glassy-eyed and focused on the TV, pretending not to care but, as always, ultimately failing) to rush downstairs and see who lies behind the door in wait. All he wants is to sink into bed and cry over a tragic gay romance and think about Isak- but he knows the likeness of him getting sucked into donating to some kids charity or adorable neighbourhood bake-sale is entirely too high.

When he opens the doors, he almost bursts into tears _again_.

“Isak?”

“Hey!” Isak smiles at him, lingering in the doorway awkwardly for a few seconds before Even steps aside to let him in, furiously wiping his eyes. “Are you okay?” Isak asks, frowning and instantly concerned. Even just laughs, nodding his head.

“I’m fine I was just watching something sad, you caught me off guard I… I didn’t think that you were going to come over.” He stops by the foot of the stairs, trying his best to look nonchalant against the wall (Despite the fact that there are still tears lurking in the corner of his eyes) as Isak stands opposite him, hands tucked into the pockets of his familiar _Wu-Tang_ hoodie that Even’s been dying to borrow, curls glowing extra-blonde as they catch the light from the glass door. Isak’s expression falls a little, and Even is quick to stumble over his own words, desperate to see the smile back on his face. “I’m happy you’re here!” he reassures, stepping a little closer. “I missed you like crazy.”

“Good.” Isak finally smiles again, reaching forwards to brush his finger against Even’s hand innocently. “I… I missed you to.”

He thinks Isak’s toying with the idea of tiptoeing up to drop a kiss on his lips when, devastatingly, they’re interrupted by Mikael’s call from upstairs.

“ _Even_ , come on! You’re missing the best part!”

Isak stiffens, jerking back from Even’s touch. Even bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hold back the awkward grimace. This is something new for them. Intimacy in the presence of another person. It doesn’t bother him, of course, but he can see why Isak would be a little freaked out by it, so he doesn’t push.

“That’s Mikael.” He nods up the stairs, before hesitantly taking a step. “That’s chill, right?”

It’s like a secret code between them. Even doesn’t look away from Isak’s eyes and after a thoughtful few seconds, Isak nods.

“That’s chill.” He says, and follows Even up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s weird, not wrapping Isak up in kisses and melting into him the moment they step into the room. Mikael is still cross-legged with his back to the headboard, eyes widening when he spots Isak edge into the room behind Even, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Even glares at him in warning, a silent glare that essentially screams _don’t screw this up for me_ and Mikael at least has the decency to drop it.

“Hi! I’m Mikael. You’re Isak, right?”

“Yeah.” Isak nods, awkwardly reaching out and shaking Mikael’s hand before sitting on the corner of the bed, hands in his lap, legs crossed. “I- you’re Even’s friend. I’ve heard loads about you.”

“All good I hope?” Mikael eyes Even teasingly as he crosses the room and flops down in his desk chair. He’d want nothing more than to take a seat right beside Isak on the bed, hopefully to reassure him a little, but he doubts it would make a difference. So instead, he stays put, drumming his fingers against the table

“I don’t know,” he smiles, hoping to lighten the tense mood. “I might have maybe let slip about the time you broke your wrist trying to impress that girl by doing a kick-flip after downing eight beers.”

“Even!” Mikael whines, sinking down into the bed. Even keeps his eyes fixed on Isak, relaxing slightly when he notices his amused smile. he’d sort of forgotten how impossible it is to be awkward around Mikael. Perhaps this accidental meeting wasn’t such a disaster. “You’re supposed to be my _best friend_. Is nothing sacred?”

“Sorry Mik.” Even grins, catching eyes with Isak and winking. “It’s one of your best moments.”

“I promise I’m cooler than he makes me out to be.” Mikael tells Isak, who actually lets out a laugh for the first time since he walked in. “It’s actually just a front- Even’s jealous of my supermodel good looks and silky soft hair.” He flicks his hair over his shoulder teasingly, and Even flips him off from his seat the desk chair. “I can actually do a pretty sick kick-flip.” He promises.

“My friend Jonas is pretty into boarding.” Isak offers. “I’m pretty shit but he could probably give you a run for your money where kick-flips are concerned.”

“A challenge!” Mikael sits up a little straighter. “I must meet this _Jonas_ and put him in his place.”

“His eyebrows are far more impressive than yours.” Even says, wheeling over a little closer to the bed so he can stretch his legs out, inching just a little closer to Isak, who doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t shift away. Doesn’t frown.

Even smiles.

 “Hey!” Mikael glares, kicking him playfully before resting his legs on top of Even’s. it’s an innocent enough gesture as the banter continues between them, but Even doesn’t miss the way Isak’s eyes dart to where their skin connects and just slightly, his brow furrows. Even bites back his smug smile- because, well, he’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure that that is _jealousy_ flashing in Isak’s eyes when he notices the no-more-than-friendly touch. And if it isn’t fucking _adorable_ -

“-Even probably never told you about the time he tried to challenge our friend Yousef to a dance off when we were like, fifteen.”

“Mikael, _no_!”

“-Even can’t dance for _shit_.” Mikael giggles. “And Yousef was like… practically _raised_ in dance academy. It was _abysmal_.”

“Fuck _you_.” Even whines, hands over his face, just a little bit mortified but slightly relieved when he notices Isak laughing at him. Mikael even draws his legs back, making Isak relax slightly, shifting just a little bit closer to Even. “No. it was a terrible mistake. We’ve all moved on.”

Mikael’s eyes sparkle. “Video evidence never dies Even. The internet is forever.”

“ _The internet_?” Isak asks, raising his eyebrow teasingly in Even’s direction. “Sounds like I need to be looking out for this epic dance off.”

“No way! I forbid you!” Even laughs.

“I don’t know…” Mikael grins. “I’m sure Isak could find it if he looked hard enough.”

Even is about to quip back, but they’re interrupted by the shrill ringing of Mikael’s phone blasting _5 fine frøkner_ (set as a prank by Even, knowing full well Mikael wouldn’t ever figure out how to change it). He pulls it out of his pocket, reading _mamma_ on the screen, and rolls his eyes before hitting accept.

“ _Ja, mama?”_

Even tunes out to the phone-call mostly, too busy staring at Isak. He’s moved a little closer, and Even’s scooted his chair up to so his ankle and Isak’s foot are only a few short inches apart. Isak looks in Mikael’s direction and then, satisfied that he isn’t paying attention, nudges his foot against Even’s leg. It isn’t much, but it’s something, and Even is almost a little embarrassed by just how _electric_ a tiny touch can be.

He’s distracted by Mikael’s sighing as he climbs up from the bed and paces around the room, looking for his shoes before disconnecting the call.

“Sorry boys, I gotta go.” He huffs. “Mamma decided it would be a _great_ idea to invite the whole family over for dinner, so now I have to go and be a good muslim boy and eat until I can’t move.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me.” Even smiles up at his best friend. “Your mamma is a pretty good cook. I mean, she’s no _Mamma Bakkoush_ but-”

“-Another thing you’ll notice about Even,” Mikael interrupts him, gaze shifting to Isak. “He _loves_ mothers, and he will _definitely_ flirt with yours if he ever meets her.” Mikael laughs at his own joke and Even rolls his eyes, half expecting Isak to laugh along with him. But he doesn’t. if anything, he stiffens slightly, eyes downcast. Mikael doesn’t notice, too busy checking his phone. Even chooses not to say anything. “Later boys,” Mikael calls, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” he winks, and Even’s cheeks flush red. Thankfully, Isak doesn’t seem too taken aback, and the smile returns to his face.

“Bye Mikael.” He calls. “Good to meet you.”

The bedroom door closes, and they both wait in a minute or so of solid silence as Mikael walks down the stairs and closes the front door behind them before Even flops down on the bed, beside Isak but still not touching him, hands tucked comfortably behind his head. Isak doesn’t wait for a second, clumsily pressing his lips against Even’s before laying down more or less on top of him, tucking his face underneath Even’s chin.

“I like him.” Isak says quietly. “He’s nice.”

“He likes you too,” Even says, one hand reaching down to stroke across Isak’s back ever so gently. “I can tell. And that makes me happy, that you two get on.”

“Still.” Isak leans up slightly to look Even in the eye and frowns. “5 fine frøkner? Seriously?”

“ _What_?” Even laughs, fumbling with his free hand that isn’t wrapped around Isak’s back into his pocket for his phone. “Isak Valtersen, don’t break my heart. You not knowing good movies was hard enough- but not liking _Gabrielle?_ I’m _hurt_.” He turns his phone over in his hand, and quickly selects the Spotify app, scrolling through his recent songs. “Just… _listen_ ,” he huffs as Isak rolls his eyes and lays down beside him so their faces are in line, an amused smile playing at his lips as the song starts blaring from the Bluetooth speaker installed above Even’s bed. “It’s fucking _musical genius_.”

“Oh _great_.” Isak huffs, pretending to be annoyed as Even starts singing along, word for word. “Fucking figures, doesn’t it? When you’ve found the man of your dreams and then it turns out he likes _Gabrielle_?” he wrinkles his nose in disgust, as if even just mentioning her name is too much for him to stomach. Even stops singing, instead, staring at Isak in awe.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

“I’m the man of your dreams.” He points with his phone to his chest, grinning as Isak’s cheeks flare up pink, recognising what it is he’s actually just let slip. “Me? Or where you talking about someone else?” he teases, looking around them for the non-existent company.

“No, _no_ ,” Isak whines, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head. “That’s… that’s how the hashtag, goes, isn’t it? it’s just… it’s the _hashtag_.”

Even just smiles, ignoring his protest. Gabrielle still blares above them, and finally, Isak opens his eyes again to find Even just an inch or so closer than he was before.

“Say it again.” He whispers, breath tickling Isak’s lips. Isak doesn’t miss a beat.

“You’re the man of my dreams.”

And then they’re kissing.

 

They kiss for so long that Even’s mouth starts to ache, but that doesn’t make him even consider stopping. At some point in the exchange they’d rolled over so that Isak was on his back with his legs spread wide, making room for Even in between them. Even was, for once, allowing himself to take full advantage of the position, hiking Isak’s thigh up just a little bit higher with the hand that wasn’t dancing through his hair as his kisses migrated from Isak’s mouth to his jawline and his neck, drawing them closer together. This made the exchange feel so much more intimate, and it was taking a _lot_ of focus on Even’s behalf not to pop a boner right there. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Isak off, but it was pretty hard with the kid looking so fucking perfect and angelic, making tiny little gasps as Even nibbled a hickey into the side of his neck.

And then something happens that hasn’t ever happened before.

After a minute or so of kissing in this position, Even feels Isak brush up against him. He feels Isak _there_ , and he pulls back in shock, realising just a second too late that Isak has actually _rolled_ his hips up into Even’s. And he’s half-hard. And now, he’s looking up at Even with his skin flushed and his eyes wide like he can’t actually quite believe what he’s done, but also that he wants it again.

Even moves his hand from Isak’s hair to his face, holding it gently.

“We can stop if you want.” He whispers. Isak is frozen, for a few seconds, before slowly, he shakes his head.

“No I… I don’t wanna stop.” He says, voice equally as quiet. Even nods. He knows what he’s doing, more or less. He hasn’t done anything with a boy before but he’d done stuff with Sonja plenty of times and watched enough porn to know the basics of making someone feel good. He isn’t exactly planning on taking Isak’s virginity then and there (nor loosing his own, in _that_ respect), but it is fucking _exciting_ , the prospect of being allowed to see and touch Isak like this, making him feel good in ways nobody else has before. Before he knows it, he’s smiling into Isak’s skin, kisses working their way lower than just his neck, down to his collarbones. Isak’s running his fingers through his hair and then, out of nowhere, his grip tightens and he pulls Even off him.

Even stills, ready to call it quits on the whole thing if Isak is uncomfortable, but he’s happily surprised when wordlessly, Isak sits up slightly and pulls his t-shirt up over his head. Even’s staring and he knows it, knows it’s probably making Isak a little nervous about he whole thing- but all the times he’d caught glimpse of Isak shirtless though his bedroom window hadn’t given him nearly enough to prepare himself for the real thing.

“Stop that.” Isak mumbles, voice low and shy. “You’re making me feel all… conscious.”

“I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, Even tears his eyes away, instead meeting Isak’s own. “It’s just… _faen_ , Isak, you’re so beautiful. When are you going to realise that?”

Isak bites his lip, and Even knows his words have lit a fire between them both. Isak looks down at their hips, still more or less lined up, and rocks upwards, just slightly. Then, he looks back up at Even again, and whispers-

“Take your shirt off.”

There isn’t much use for talking after that. Clothes are tossed to the bedroom floor that really does need to be vacuumed at some point- but Even’s too lost in Isak to care. It’s all hot and heavy, kissing and rubbing up on each other, leaving tiny red marks all over Isak’s beautiful torso, kissing his pretty little pink nipples, moving his mouth lower until he’s got Isak shouting his name the way he’d always _dreamed_ , hands threading through his hair and thighs shaking.

Isak cries a little bit when Even finally lets him come.

Surprisingly enough, Even was the one to finish first. The image of Isak laid out below him was too much not to get worked up over, and the moment Isak’s hands had started exploring with an acute curiosity, Even had been putty in his hands. After that, his main focus was to show Isak as best he could just how beautiful Even found him. So he did, and it didn’t exactly take long- but the look in Isak’s shining eyes after he finally peeled them open was enough to age them both.

“I’m sorry, I’m being dumb.” Isak wipes the stray tear away from underneath his left eye and tries to look away, but Even wont let him, still draped over him, holding his face gently. “I just… I’ve never done anything like that before and I’ve never felt so much like… like you really care about me. you know?”

“I know.” Even nods, resting his forehead against Isak’s and closing his eyes. “I felt it too.” He offers, and it’s the truth, but Isak doesn’t seem to want to hear it. he turns his head away again, eyes squeezed shut, but when Even opens his own to look at him, all he can focus on is the tears, peeking out between his lashes. “Isak,” he calls softly, rolling off him to instead lay beside him, legs intertwined. “Baby. Why are you crying?”

Isak sniffs, and it’s the most beautiful, heart-breaking sound Even has ever heard.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, clearing his throat and forcing his voice to stay steady as Even hovers above him. “I’m just… I’m just scared. This isn’t just some bit of fun for me, Even. If… if you left, I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“So I won’t leave.” Even says, pushing their faces together to drop a chaste kiss on Isak’s lips as he finally opens his eyes. “I won’t leave you, Isak. I promise.” He reaches down, hooking a finger between two of Isak’s own, relived when he feels Isak squeeze back. “Stay?” he asks, gesturing to the bed. There’s no way he wants Isak out of his sight for the rest of the night.

“For how long?” Isak asks, eyes never leaving his. Even smiles, and kisses him again.

“Forever.”


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> schmooooooopy fluffy stuff with a considerably un-schmoopy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so fucking long lol life is crazy sometimes. There's like three chapters left of this but I don't know when I might finish them, if ever. Just hang tight for now. Don't wait up. :)

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

 

“So they’re gone the whole weekend?” Isak asks, one leg thrown over Even’s side, head propped up on one of his hands as he stares down at Even, tracing around the features of his face with a careful finger. He’d been softly stroking past his cheekbones, down the slope of his nose and over the cupids bow of his lips so far for around twenty minutes and, Even isn’t one bit tired of it. Isak’s touch is warm and soft and still just a little bit hesitant, like he still can’t quite believe that Even is his, like this, to enjoy as he pleases.

“The whole weekend.” Even nods, kissing the tip of Isak’s finger as it ghosts across his plump bottom lip. Isak giggles, moving his hand away before resting it back again, this time on the side of his face, fingers curling into his hair. “They don’t actually come back until Tuesday, so I’ll have Monday alone too.”

“Not alone.” Isak grins, and Even matches it, leaning in to Isak’s touch.  “You’ll have me.” Isak leans forwards, brushing his nose against Even’s playfully. Even isn’t satisfied with that alone, not after the experience they shared the day before, and reaches out to pull Isak on top of him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. He rolls them across the bed until Isak is on his back and Even is laid across his front, peppering short kisses across the side of his face.

“You really want to hang out with me for  three days straight?” he asks, and Isak laughs, pushing his face away from where it had been nibbling at his brow, and nods his head. “Are you sure?” Even asks, kissing his nose and then, finally, his mouth. “What if you get sick of me?”

“I will _not_ be getting sick of you. I promise.” Isak smiles, hugging Even against his chest tightly. “But I am getting a dead leg from you laying on me.” he wriggles slightly. “Wanna get up and eat something?”

A little sad at the sudden loss of contact between them, Even rolls off of Isak and stretches his arms out above his head before climbing out of bed. Isak follows, and they don’t even really need to speak- it’s a wordless dance to their own symphony as Even crosses into the bathroom to brush his teeth and Isak pulls on one of Even’s hoodies that drowns him in just the right way that makes him look like some kind of teen-magazine model. Even leaves the bathroom and tosses Isak the spare toothbrush they keep under the sink and ten minutes later, Isak is joining him downstairs, a shy smile crossing his face as Even slides a cup of coffee across the kitchen counter. He hasn’t added milk or sugar, still unsure about so many basic facts of Isak’s life and his preferences and is then wholly surprised when Isak holds the cup with the sleeves of Even’s hoodie, completely black, and takes a heavy gulp.

“What?” He asks with a quiet laugh as Even’s eyes bulge out of his head. “I like black coffee.”

“Isak, you’re too young to drink black coffee.”

“You’re literally two years older than me.” Isak rolls his eyes. “I can handle it. Now can we eat? I’m fucking starving.”

 

* * *

                                                                                                                              

 

Even makes them both cheese toasties because after downing a cup of hot black coffee within the space of fifteen minutes, he isn’t sure he trusts Isak to operate any kind of cooking utensils. Surprisingly, Isak seems doesn’t seem to mind being doted on, he actually sort of _likes_ it- a slight tinge of pink doesn’t leave his cheeks from the moment Even tells him to get comfortable in the living room and watch whatever he wants on TV to when he finishes their toasties, runs upstairs to grab a few pre-rolled joints he had stashed in his bedroom drawer, and delivers it all to Isak on a tray with a glass of orange juice and a synthetic flower he plucked from the ornamental plant pot his mother keeps in the bathroom.

“For you.” He teases, taking the fake dandelion and tucking it behind Isak’s ear. “Pretty as a flower.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Isak says back, but his cheeks heat up red.

“We’re watching _The Inbetweeners_.” Even announces after a few minutes of silent eating. He takes one of the joints and tucks it into the corner of his mouth before getting up to rummage through the DVD collection, leaving Isak cross legged on the sofa, humming happily into his sandwich. “Have you seen it?” Even asks, and he shakes his head _no_. “Perfect.” Even grins. “We’re going to get baked and watch the inbetweeners. It’s up there with the most fun you can have within a fifteen-foot radius of your own home.”

It’s a throwaway joke, but for the first time since Isak came over the day before, Even notices his tag, tight around his ankle. Usually, it’s the most irritating thing and he notices it constantly as the plastic rubs against his skinny ankles and sends sharp pains shooting up his leg every time he accidentally bumps it against a piece of furniture because it’s new constant presence fucks with his spatial awareness. Somehow, when Isak’s around, he’s far too focused on his soft hair and pretty eyes and musical laughter to even remember his little inconvenient companion. It’s a nice relief.

Even takes his seat back beside Isak and without hesitation, Isak shuffles closer to him, resting his head just against the edge of Even’s shoulder. It’s nice, unconsciously intimate, and as Even flicks the lighter over the end of his joint and inhales a deep pull of smoke, he’s well aware that it isn’t the weed making him feel so warm.

 

* * *

 

 

“This… this is the _funniest_ show I’ve ever seen.” Isak giggles, eyes rimmed red and a lazy, half grin fixed to his face as he lounges with his head in Even’s lap, playing with the hoodie strings that dangle above him like a pleased cat. They’ve been sitting around for hours- Even lost count somewhere in the middle of the second season- and with the amount of weed consumed between them at such rapid rate, it wasn’t a surprise to him that they are both equally baked. _Well_ , he thinks, _Isak is definitely higher than I am_ , but Even is very aware that he isn’t far behind. He takes another pull of the half smoked joint Isak had waved above his face a few minutes ago, and from across the ways, Baz meows haughtily before skittering out of the room, tail in the air. If cats could roll their eyes- Even knows Baz would probably do it.

They’d cracked open the living room window as not to completely saturate the house in weed, but the smell still hangs heavy with the smoke in the air and a slight chill creeps across the room. Even doesn’t mind- it encourages Isak to get even closer to him, burrowing himself further into Even’s lap as he shifts to lay on his side, face practically nestled in Even’s abdomen. Even laughs, running his fingers through Isak’s soft curls-

“How are you going to watch it facing the wrong way, silly?”

“I don’t need to watch.” Isak shakes his head, nose brushing Even’s skin and making goosebumps prick up across his forearms. “I can just listen and hear how funny it is.”

“I don’t think either of us know English that well, Isak.”

“Shh,” Isak whines, wrapping his arms around Even’s middle and pulling himself closer. He’s so close now, that when he talks, his voice vibrates against Even’s skin. If he wasn’t high as a fucking kite, Even knows he would probably be hard as a rock. “I’m trying to listen.”

So Even _shushes_. He leans back into the sofa with a smile, feeling like the material is swallowing him up, letting him melt between the cracks and Isak’s hair tickles his stomach, soft and heavy in his hands. They watch TV for hours without paying attention, and eventually, as the sun sets, Even notices that Isak has fallen asleep in his lap. He snores quietly, and instead of the worried, furrowed brow he’d been sporting the previous night when Even was awoken by his tossing and turning, his face is completely at peace, a small, lazy smile brushing across his lips.

 

* * *

 

 On the morning of their Saturday together, Even gazes at a shirtless, half-asleep Isak laid out all pretty in his bed and his heart practically swells. It’s probably just his standard morning wood fucking with his head, but the way Isak stretches his arms up before wrapping them around Even’s shoulders and pulling him close makes him feel just a little bit like he might be in love. It’s similar to the feeling he used to get with Sonja, a few months down the line into their relationship. At the time, Even didn’t think he could _ever_ feel anything quite so harrowing as fresh, young love but here he was, Isak laughing as Even’s lips brushed across his neck and his stomach doing somersaults between them.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Isak laughs as Even’s hand creeps down between them, wriggling out of his grip. “I wanna try something for you. You spend so much time getting me off, I haven’t had a chance to return the favour.”

“ _Okay_.” Even smirks, more than happy to flop down on his back with his hands tucked neatly behind his head as Isak sits up, duvet cover pooling in his lap and eyes skimming over his body. “Do your worst, Valtersen.”

“If I’m shit you have to promise not to laugh.” He glares. Even rolls his eyes before grinning up at him, teasingly.

“Baby, I think you know by now that just the sight of you makes me want to-”

“-alright, alright.” Isak blushes, shaking his head so that his curls bounce around his shoulders, adorable. Slowly, and a little hesitantly, he moves down the bed so his face is more level with Even’s crotch, eyes focusing- well- _there_ \- with a hot intensity. Even holds his breath, biting his lip as Isak’s mouth hovers dangerously close to the place he’s wanted it most since he first saw him from across the street. A small part of him wants to nudge his hips up and encourage Isak just to _get on with it_ without all this pre-amble and tension, but a larger, more rational part of his brain reminds him that _Isak has never done this before_. He has to compose himself and come to terms with the fact that depending on just how well this goes- Isak may _never want to do it again_.

Even had given the whole blowjob-thing a pretty good _college-try_ with Isak just two days ago, and really had enjoyed it a lot more than he thought he would. However, Isak isn’t nearly as confident in himself nor his sexuality as Even is, and he knows this seemingly miniscule event of _sucking Even off_ really is a much bigger deal than Isak is letting on.

“Should… should I-” Isak stutters, nervously, looking up at Even through his lashes as he inches closer and Even has to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid crying out with a whining note of _please_. There’s something about the image of Isak between his thighs with his face all red from sleep and embarrassment, eyes unsure, mouth slightly parted that makes him want to freeze time and never look back.

“-just, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” Even manages to breathe out, and after a brief, quizzical glance, Isak focuses his gaze back where Even most wants it and leans forwards, mouth open, lips just brushing the tip of Even’s cock. His tongue darts out between them, tasting experimentally with a slight frown, and Even’s stomach flips even just at that. At this point, he’d honestly take _just this_ , just them- forever.

Isak has other ideas, and after smiling to himself, really throws caution to the _fucking wind_ and gives Even what he would consider maybe the _fourth_ best blowjob of his entire adolescent life.

“Did I… was that… okay?” he asks afterwards, a little out of breath with Even’s come still clinging to the corners of his mouth, eyes a little red and hair everywhere. He looks fucking beautiful, and Even doesn’t even want to think what he must look like at this angle, the entire expanse of his chest and face flushed completely beetroot, chest heaving, cock fucking throbbing soft in his lap.

“That… was… _very okay_.” He manages to eek out, nodding, and Isak laughs at him. He laughs, crawling up Even’s body so they can be face to face, his own hardness poking at Even’s hip, hands coming up to stroke through his hair. Even reaches up to wipe the smear of _spunk_ off Isak’s mouth and uses his other hand to stroke at the side of his thigh, still feeling a little bit like his mind hasn’t quite reconnected his body, as if Isak literally _sucked_ the soul out of him.

“ _Very_ _okay_?”  Isak repeats, teasing. “Good to know that I’m _very okay_ in bed, Even, thanks.”

“Jesus, Isak.” Even laughs, but uses his free hand to still Isak’s hips which are sort of moving on their own accord and making him brush up against his most sensitive area. “Clearly you’ve turned my mind into mush, give me a fucking second to recollect myself, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

 

On the Sunday, Even makes Isak hot chocolate (because he’s sick of watching the boy poison himself with blacker than black coffee) and they cuddle up together in the living room with every duvet in the house, every pillow, baz in between them and a single joint to share from the very last dregs of Even’s stash.

“This movie is pretty make or break for us, Isak.” Even tells Isak, who rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. If you don’t like this movie… I don’t see much hope for us in the future.”

“Somehow I think it’ll take more than a movie to do that, Even.” He sips his hot chocolate, the small mountain of whipped cream Even had insisted on creating a tiny moustache over his top lip. Unable to resist a cliché, Even leans in and kisses him, licking the cream off and making Isak giggle. “It better not be black-and-white, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I promise.” Even settles against him with his own hot chocolate cooling by his side, one hand stroking Baz’ soft belly and the other clutching the remote tightly. “This movie is packed full of colour, uses the original Shakespearian dialect and, most importantly, has a young Leonardo DiCaprio in various states of undress.”

“You have my attention.” Isak grins, and there isn’t really anything more to say. Even just presses play, and the title music blares at them, startling Baz and making him roll back over onto his fat little paws, ready to defend himself.

“Romeo + Juliet.” Isak reads, frowning slightly. “Wow. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sappier.”

 

Exactly one hundred and twenty minutes later, Even bites back a smile when he turns to look at Isak. Hot chocolate long since drained, Isak sits with his back against the sofa and his knees pulled up to his chest, Baz lounging over his bare feet, hands pressed into his face. His cheeks are damp- he’d covered it well, Even hadn’t guessed once during the film that Isak had been crying, but looking at him now, it’s pretty clear to see.

“Did you like it?” he asks, and Isak turns to him, completely aghast, eyes rimmed red.

“Did I _like_ it?” he practically yells. “Fucking hell, Even. They _died_ at the end? That’s just… that’s _not fair-_ ”

“-that’s how the story goes.” Even laughs, wrapping an arm around Isak and pulling him under his chin. Baz scuttles off at the first sign of movement, and Isak lets himself be pulled in, face resting underneath Even’s chin. “It’s like… a five hundred year old story, Isak.”

“I know, I know- but… _still_. I didn’t think they’d actually _do it_. not to _Leo_.”

“So you liked it, I’m guessing?”

“Liked it.” Isak scoffs. “Fuck you. You knew I’d love it.”

“I hoped you would.” Even corrects him. “I was right to hope.”

* * *

 

 

 

By the time Monday rolls around, Even is starting to wonder just why Isak’s had hasn’t actually called him _once_.

For a few days he’d just figured maybe they texted when Even wasn’t looking or maybe Isak saw him through the window and waved or something else trivial enough to not warrant mention, but it comes to his attention on Monday when Isak pulls up the text chat between himself and his father to look for a photo and he accidentally-on-purpose notices that the last time they contacted each other via the phone was well over a week ago, short concise messages lacking any of the easy-going friendliness Even has with his own father.

Isak’s been more or less _living_ with him for three straight days. And his dad hasn’t called him, hasn’t texted him _once_ to so much as ask where he’s been. That, to Even, is shockingly absurd.

“You’re so lucky.” He tries to bring up the subject in the least awkward manner possible on the Monday, Isak’s face tucked against his shoulder and his soft hands stroking along the side of Even’s face. Isak frowns against his skin.

“How’d you figure that?”

“Your dad.” Even smiles. “I know mine would be harassing me asking where I am by now. Your dad must be pretty chill.”

Isak doesn’t quite _stiffen_ , but he does shift a little uncomfortably, face pulling into a neat little frown before he rolls away from Even completely, leaving him feeling cold and lost and a little bit _incomplete_ mere seconds after their tangible link is severed. Isak is now laid flat on the other side of the bed, looking away from him, eyes over on the floor.

“He’s an asshole.” He says. Even scoots back a little, raising his eyebrows.

“Why’s that?”

“He probably figures I’m at Jonas’- he’d text Jonas before he’d bother calling me and Jonas always has my back so he probably just said I’m there.” Isak mumbled, still avoiding Even’s eye but turning on his side so that they could at least face each other. “He’s always been a miserable asshole but since moving here it’s gotten so much worse.”

“I’m sorry.” Even mumbles, unsure what else he can really say. The casual comment has backfired considerable, and now he has to face a dejected, squirming Isak who can’t hold eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. It’s a strange contention- unlike the majority of fellow adolescents he’d met, he has two very married, very _happy_ parents who he gets on perfectly with. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that not everybody he meets shares that same luxury.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Isak laughs bitterly. “My mamma is crazy too.”

“Crazy?” Even asks quietly, suddenly feeling the full force of the discomfort that hangs in the air from a simple word. His hear hammers in his chest- Isak’s mamma is _crazy_ , but _what does that mean?_ If Isak knew about him- would he say the same?

Isak, completely unaware of his inner turmoil, wrinkles his nose, displeased, and shakes his head before burrowing it into the pillow, voice slightly muffled.

“Well no- sorry, that’s not fair.” He says, and Even relaxes a little as Isak manages to face him again for a few short seconds at a time. “She isn’t _crazy_ , she’s… she’s ill. Schizophrenia. It got really bad and… we couldn’t cope with her at home anymore so pappa had her put into a hospital. We moved here to be closer to her.”

“I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Isak just shrugs, rolls a little closer to Even and hides his face in the crook of Even’s neck. “It’s cool. I just feel like… I don’t know, guilty sometimes. Like I could’ve done more for her but instead I let my dad just ship her off to some hospital all by herself.”

Even doesn’t think anything he can think of saying in that moment is worth saying at all. Everyone has secrets- he knows that more than anyone- but he’s just been going by on the assumption that Isak’s biggest hidden truth was the fact that he doesn’t like girls the way the rest of his friends do and isn’t totally ready to let the world know about it. He’s never imagined, not even for a second that maybe there was more Isak doesn’t like to let slip so easy.

He contemplates taking this moment, the two of them cuddled together, absorbing the silence in wake of Isak’s confession to tell his own truth, spill the beans about his bipolar and his stupid mistake and the real reason he wears the ankle tag everyday like some sort of repugnant shackle- but at the last minute decides against it. Isak isn’t saying anything at all, and even though he’d never dare let on, Even can tell that he’s sad. He’s thinking about his mother, away from home all on her own, and his distant, gruff excuse of a father. So instead of talking, Even just hugs Isak a little tighter, drops a kiss to his forehead, and twinkles a little inside when he spots the small tug of a smile at the corner of Isak’s mouth.

“Even, we’re home and- oh, _God_!”

Both Even and Isak leap up as if a bolt of lightning has struck the both of them, blankets pooling in their laps to reveal their matching, pale, bare chests, lit up with a blush and a series of little, telling red marks that creep up to their necks and sprawl sporadically across Isak’s defined collarbones as they heart he sound of Even’s parents, at once entering the room and then immediately darting back out, the door slamming closed.

“Sorry Even!” he can hear his mother’s voice calling from behind the door, and after locking eyes with a  bewildered, shocked Isak, Even splutters a laugh.

“You can come in, _mamma_.”

Slowly, the door creaks open again and like two blushing, guilty teenagers themselves, Even’s parents creep back into the room with their coats in their arms and their suitcases abandoned by their feet.

“Mamma… _pappa_ … this is uh, _Isak_ , from next door.”

He gestures beside him to Isak, who hasn’t really breathed in the last ten seconds, eyes flitting with panic between Even, his mother, his father and back again, saying nothing.

 “Terje’s son!” Even’s dad exclaims, still sounding more than a little awkward, rubbing his hand through the hair at the back of his neck. “Ah yes, good to meet you, son. I’ve met your father.”

“Nice to meet you too, uh, sir…” Isak speaks slowly, each word stuttering out a few painful seconds after the next and Even has to try _really_ hard not to burst out laughing, _again_. “And you, Mrs-”

“Liv is fine, honestly.” His mother smiles, cheeks still flushed pink. “Lovely to meet you, Isak.”

“What are you doing back?”

“We caught an earlier flight. Thought we’d… surprise you.”

“Well,” Even laughs. “You certainly did that.”

“Right.” There’s still a heaving awkwardness sitting in the air, and no matter how amusing he finds the situation, Even knows that it wont be leaving any time soon. His parents look at each other stiffly again, before a silent agreement comes between them, and they take a step backwards, heading out of the room.

“Good to meet you Isak.” His mother at least has the decency to say, giving hem both a smile and a wave before exiting the room and closing the door.

“Oh my God.” Even laughs after a full thirty seconds of silence, and finally, Isak cracks a smile, blush on his face calming down from a bleeding red to a more blushing pink hue. “Sorry about them.”

“No, it’s fine.” Isak smiles, shaking his head amusedly. “I… your parents are nice.”

“They’re not usually that embarrassing.”

“They’re _nice_.” Without warning, Isak moves to the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab his t-shirt off the floor and pull it over his head. Even bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to reach out and _drag_ him back into the bed. They’ve both had a little bit of a shock, and it had taken more than a little while for Isak to get comfortable in their private little Idaho. No wonder he’s ready to bolt.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, but he’s already come to peace with the fact that he isn’t going to beg Isak to stay, doesn’t want to make this situation more difficult than it already is. Thankfully, once dressed, Isak turns to smile at him, stealing one of Even’s beanies off his nightstand to cover his wayward, bed-head of curls.

“Don’t worry,” Isak says, leaning across the bed to drop a kiss on Even’s lips. “I’ll come back. I should probably just get home, like you said- my dad. He’ll be wondering where I am soon enough.”

“I’ll miss you though.”

Isak grins at that. “You know I’m only next door.”

 

* * *

 

 

With Isak escaping the house without little more than an awkward wave goodbye to him and his parents, Even is left with the sudden realisation that now he has to be alone with them. Their smug, knowing little smiles as they sit on opposite ends of the couch, pretending to be invested in their _tea_ and the TV are beyond telling, and to be honest, Even just wants to get it over with.

So he brings it up.

“Yeah. That was Isak.” He says, standing in the doorway, and both his parents eyes fly over to him, delighted.

“I’d been meaning to say hello.” His mother says. Even bites back a laugh. “I suppose you’ve already met.”

“You could say that.” His dad scoffs, muting the volume. Even rolls his eyes at their teasing. He supposes things could be a lot worse. This, he can live through.

“When did you two become… _friends_?” his mother asks, and Even finds himself recounting the story, albeit a heavily edited version, of seeing Isak a few times through the windows ( _not_ with binoculars, not shirtless, not smirking at him through the curtains) before finally meeting him when Baz got out (not _forced_ out, not the _worst_ actor ever, not pathetically falling head over heels before he had a chance to learn the boys name) and inviting him over. They seem to believe it, at least, nodding and smiling in all the right placed before his mother finally leaves her tea on the coffee table and stands up, approaching him slowly, beaming before pulling him into a tight hug.

“He seems lovely, darling.” She rocks him back and forth a few times, and Even lets her, before slipping out of her grip. “I’m just glad you’re making the best of this whole awkward staying-home situation.”

“You’re young,” his dad chips in. “No harm in a little fun.”

Even rolls his eyes as his mother retreats to the couch, and sits down on the edge of the armchair. Something in his dad’s last comment stings him. _a little fun_ , he scoffs at the thought. Isak is so much more than a _little fun_.

“I’m serious about him.” he tells them outright, running a hand through his hair. “Like, dead serious. The most serious I’ve been since _Sonja_ , even.”

“Babe,” his mother simpers, and how can he blame her. he’s sure he _sounds_ crazy, likening the boy he’s known for little more than a couple of weeks to his last serious girlfriend of almost _four years_ , but then, they can’t feel it like he can. “Sonja was only two months ago-”

“-I know that!” he interrupts. “But… I’m serious, okay! I really like him. Isak and I… we… we’re so _connected_ , like, it’s strange-”

“-Even…” his father’s tone is warning, and Even knows what he’s going to say before he says it, so he doesn’t bother giving him the chance.

“I’m not manic.” He tells them, and for once, he’s deadly sure. “Isak and me. I think it’s the real deal. All I ask is that you support us.”

“Of course we do.” His mother smiles, and after a beat of silence, elbows his dad until he confirms the same. Even breathes a sigh of relief, and again, thanks his fucking lucky stars that he has parents as good as these ones. When he says he isn’t manic, they _believe_ him, even if what he says sounds crazy. Love at first sight isn’t real, neither is true love, or soulmates- but this comes pretty close, Even thinks.

“Have you told him?”

“Hm?” Even snaps out of his thoughts to find both his parents looking at him, soft, amused expressions swapped for hard seriousness, lips pressed in a thin, stoic line.

“About your bipolar, kiddo.” His dad sighs. “If you’re serious about this boy, then we would hope you’d let him know, when you feel the time is right.”

“I know.” Even nods, swallowing thickly. They hadn’t even given him the chance to _celebrate_ , before they dropped them bomb. He can’t say he blames them. It’s been plaguing his mind since the moment Isak told him that his own _mamma_ was sick, suffering with a mental illness not too far flung from his own. “Isak is…” he hesitates, hates talking about him like he isn’t a real person, like he’s just some made up character in a show or a movie, theirs for the psychoanalysing. “He’s got his own stuff that he’s going through. He’s still in the closet, he doesn’t get on with his father… his mother has schizophrenia and is institutionalised-”

“-So, he’ll understand.”

Even pauses. “…I think so.”

“You think so? So you haven’t told him.”

He hangs his head, “Not yet.”, and prepares for a scolding.

“Darling.” His mother sighs instead, taking his dad’s hand across the couch, squeezing lightly. “You care about this boy, and I think he cares for you a lot too. If he’s been through his own traumas, you don’t have to tell us, but I’m sure he’d appreciate your honesty more than anything else. You should tell him.”

“You should tell him.” his father repeats, and Even nods. The words echo inside his head for the rest of the day.

 _You should tell him_ , he even tells himself, but staring at his phone just after midnight, glancing out every now and then to Isak’s tightly drawn curtains, he just can’t quite bring himself to call.

 


End file.
